Lost and Found
by Rurouni Star
Summary: [HGSB] Nothing stays lost forever. The same holds true for some people.
1. Prologue

I've been forced, I tell you! FORCED! It is ALL SAN'S FAULT! I'm _so_ holding her accountable if I lose interest in ALAP and go on a mad posting spree with this.

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**Lost and Found**

**By Rurouni Star**

She was empty.

At first, she thought it had happened that night. Just an absence of thought, an absence of caring. But then she realized it had happened a long, long time ago.

When the end came.

Oh, of course they won. Voldemort had been doomed before he'd even started his takeover – too many people aware, too many people ready to fight. And they had experience this time, and training.

No, it wasn't the end for the wizarding world. Life went on for everyone who hadn't been there, who hadn't seen time stop. But for her, it was still that day, and she was still watching as they tried to regather desperately, tried not to think of the pale, broken bodies, laying on the ground before them. As they realized…

…they had won.

Hermione was still there as the stunned silence descended.

No cheers, no cries of "Voldemort is gone!" no jumping or hugging or even tears over the dead.

Just… silence.

She was still there that night, when they realized what they had lost. Time stopped as soon as she saw her two best friends staring up at her lifelessly. Because she _still_ couldn't comprehend it.

_Seventeen years._

What was that? A number. It meant nothing.

She was still there.

Hermione sipped at her hot chocolate, staring out the window and listening to the rain pounding and the thunder rumbling and the wind whistling oh-so-gently. And even though she tried to fill herself up with the vision, with the storms she had once loved so much, it just. Wasn't. Working.

With a sigh, she put down the mug and rubbed at her eyes. There were dark circles there, she was sure. Because sometimes, long into the night, she would stare at their faces and if she stared at them long enough, surely they would blink and ask her why she was doing it.

It was times like these, when she felt so very hollow, that she wondered what she was missing. It wasn't the magic. Not the magic she had lost all care for, or the wand she had hidden in the attic, or the book of Latin chants that had slowly found their way there too as she discovered she couldn't make herself look at them long enough to learn. It wasn't Hogwarts either, god, Hogwarts, the place she seemed to see everywhere, superimposed onto reality as they laughed and joked and played their stupid little pranks and talked about what an awful potions lesson _that_ had been.

The woman sighed and rose from the little window seat, the one she'd built just so she could stare. And she decided, almost on whim, to find out.

What was missing.

The woman climbed the stairs slowly, pushing back the hair in her eyes – the hair she hadn't bothered to cut for years, the hair that had lost its curl slowly, the hair that had straightened out and changed and fixed itself while she hadn't – and she stopped below the attic door. Reaching her hand upward to clasp the handle. Wondering if this stupid idea would really do anything other than tell her where the hell her car keys went last week.

Hermione pulled down gently, cautious even now to keep the ladder from hitting her on the head. Her other hand reached up to catch it instinctively, pulling it down slowly. She could _see_ the dust now. It was swirling down as she pulled on the ladder, like a fine mist on a cold night. And it hit her then that she ought to have kept her wand out just to keep the house clean, because it was something that would have been nice.

And as she climbed, she remembered…

_Climbing up the attic ladder to Divination, coughing as the incense invaded her senses and the light turned musky. Glaring at the spectacled teacher to let her know in no uncertain terms that she was **not** here for her._

_"Harry," she called quietly. "Dumbledore wanted to see you."_

_Trelawny sniffed disdainfully as the boy with the piercing green eyes moved to follow her, and Hermione pointedly ignored her back. Harry's lips twitched as he tried not to laugh, and they began to go down the stairs._

**_"Tonight… there will be death."_**__

_Hermione's lips thinned to a line, and she shut the attic door with a resounding slam._

Hadn't Trelawny died that night too? She couldn't remember. That had been afterward, when they pulled out that list of names. Hermione had still been standing there, staring, in her mind. She hadn't heard a single one.

Her hand reached out now, to brush away the dust on top of an old, worn trunk.

They hadn't protested, when she left. When she ignored the scholarships and the praise and the pre-emptive ministry positions. Dumbledore had simply smiled, an empty smile, just an attempt, for her. And he had patted her on the shoulder and said something vaguely comforting. She remembered that. Dumbledore could pierce through all your thoughts and all your layers and leave you bare, so she remembered.

She unlatched the trunk now. It was unlocked. She never bothered to lock it.

The lid opened with a groan, and she saw that no dust had found the inside. No, it wouldn't have. The magic was still there, even if she wasn't. The pages of her schoolbooks, still pristine, still purely white; her wand looking like the day she'd bought it.

_Swish and flick, swish and flick – oh look, everyone, Miss Granger's got it!_

A tiny, pained smile worked its way to her face.

What was it? It bothered her now. What had Dumbledore said?

Her fingers closed around the wand's handle, and it was at once both comforting and frightening the way it still fit. As though it had just been waiting, confident she would return.

_What was it?_

Swish and flick. Yes, there. She could still do it.

_What did he… yes._

And if she pretended, she could still see, could remember the way the blackboard had looked, the equations and the incantations and the _page numbers…_

_"You've done enough. Go live."_

_But her eyes met his and he knew she was dead inside._

"I'm… I'm missing something…" she whispered to herself.

The book was open and it was on that same page – page 264, exactly, in the fourth year charms textbook. After all, she still had every single one. In case… in case…

_In case I wanted to study, wasn't it? In case the urge ever took me again. Like it has._

But this was just an experiment, a whim, a last feeble gasp before she let go of hope. Because something inside just had this annoying tendency, a natural inclination toward it. She wasn't entirely sure where she'd gotten it from.

Maybe from Harry.

_"It'll all turn out, Hermione, you'll see… and… and when we win, we'll all go to Fred and George's shop and have a party. You know they'll bring out those fireworks they've been working on…"_ Her mind stuttered at this point, and she panicked. But it picked up bits and pieces. _"…butterbeer… Ron's been wanting… firewhisky… will have to do…"_

Oh yes. The incantation.

She was still staring at it.

_Mihi__ requiendum…_

There was a blank afterward. What was she looking for?

_Something I need…_

Her mind worked to remember the conjugations. _Desiderium__…mihi requienda desiderium…_

Her grip tightened on the wand as she realized she had no idea what she was doing. What if this did something strange, what if she couldn't remember the right word and she ended up getting herself something dangerous… or already dead…

But she realized a moment later that it _didn't matter._

So she raised the wand and pulled it back, swiped it downward once and said, in barely a whisper, "Mihi requienda desiderium…"

The magic surged through her, and she felt it, that empty brightness that gave you shivers and made you young again… the magic she'd slowly lost care for…

And…

It stopped.

The sparks faded.

And it was dark again.

"Damn magic anyway," Hermione spat out, throwing the wand back into the trunk and turning on her heel to walk back down the attic stairs. Of course it wouldn't work. Why should it? Magic was never vague, it always required you to _name_ what you wanted, saying a stupid little "something I need" wasn't going to help _anything!_

An inwardly directed fit of rage and self-pity built up inside of her as she walked to the table and threw the mug of chocolate to the floor. A strange satisfaction emerged as she watched it shatter there. The warm liquid flowed outward, leaving trails of heat and steam where it passed.

It wouldn't stain, she knew. It would clean up so easily, and she would never know that it had happened. Just like everything else that had come and gone since seventeen years ago.

But the fit passed as she stared at her drink slipping lazily down the linoleum, making its way toward her living room carpet. Because she hated messes. That was who she was, who she always would be. Hermione bent down with a shaking hand to pick up the shards of the mug and winced as her finger caught on an edge. A tiny line of blood began to well out, turning quickly into a bead and then a droplet that went crashing down to mingle with the chocolate. She sighed and pulled a rag down, ignoring it for the moment.

The chocolate cleaned up, like she knew it would. A little water, a little soap, and it had disappeared again. The only evidence that it ever had been was a messy cloth and a thumb that had become smeared with blood.

"So magic can't fix everything," she murmured to herself, cradling her hand to her chest. "No one said it could." But she'd always thought so. Always, before then, she'd had this feeling that magic was… well… _magic._ Not just a tool or an art, but a fix-it-all, a miracle remedy. Now, though, she felt like she'd slurred against an old friend, one that hadn't deserved it.

She was kneeling on the floor now, broken and still not healing, despite the magic. But it had never been the magic. It had always been her.

The wand was still in the attic. She could bring it down, look at her books, reminisce a bit, maybe. "Perhaps I should-"

A thud against the front door startled her to her feet. Hermione swallowed.

_What did I do, I screwed up, I knew I shouldn't have-_

But it wasn't followed by anything else. Just the thunder and the rain.

She swallowed, wondering about the intelligence of going to the attic and getting her wand again. But she knew she wouldn't. She couldn't turn her back to the door, not for anything.

So, thinking herself marginally reasonable, she moved toward it quietly, head pounding with the rain now. It was probably just a stray dog or something, nothing to be frightened of…

Hermione had reached the door now, and she had to stop. She bit her bottom lip nervously. _Surely_ this was just a coincidence-

Before she could stop herself, she forced her hand to dart out, latching onto the doorknob and _pulling _all at once.

The door opened inward easily.

And Hermione's breath hitched in her throat as she stared, petrified.

Because…

_What other meanings are there? Desiderium, something I desire, something I need, something I wish for…_

_Something I grieve for._

"This is impossible," she whispered hoarsely. "_You're _impossible!"

But the rain-soaked, unconscious figure of Sirius Black did not respond.


	2. Perchance to Dream

**Lost and Found**

**By Rurouni Star**

**Chapter 1 – Perchance to Dream**

She'd gotten through it somehow. Put him on the couch, covered him with one of those guest blankets she'd never used, and looked him over for injuries. Not many, of course, except for the place where the curse had hit him full on in the chest. Fever? A bit. Expected from the soaking outer robes she'd had to strip from him. No broken bones, a few minimal lacerations, maybe, and that scraggly beard he'd always refused to shave (she remembered that). He was…

Exactly as he had been.

"Damn you," she muttered. "You died. You died for _nothing_ and you have the gall to-" He was a boggart. Yes, that was it, that _had_ to be it. She would get her wand and imagine him falling through that curtain, yell _ridikkulous_ and laugh bitterly as he died again.

Because no spell was that tidy, she thought as she walked up the attic stairs, still open. No little spell would bring you something that powerful, even if it was painful. It would give her a cheap imitation, something from her memory…

The wand was still there, where she'd left it in the open chest. It glowed faintly in the darkness, a charm she'd once placed on it to find it should she drop it at night. At night, when they'd always gone out to make trouble…

Hermione bit her lip hard, ignoring the sweet, coppery taste that touched her tongue. She had been remembering it her whole life. She didn't need to remember more now. She could always do it after she'd vanquished this enemy, this reminder of something _before_ her time, once more revived…

She returned to the couch with a frown, wondering if the spell worked against unconscious boggarts. Because he _was_ sleeping, and his fever had risen, just a fraction, and he was… he was…

Breathing hard. Murmuring. Tossing and turning as though he were having a nightmare when she _knew_ that boggarts wouldn't- _couldn't-_

Against her better judgment, she found herself looking for the washcloth, finding it, dousing it with water. Hermione brought it all the way back to the couch when she saw the chocolate-blood stain on it and laughed. She retrieved a new one, unstained, and put it to his forehead. He still looked like… well, _him._

Hermione felt the dangerous temptation rising within her – her hand was halfway to her wand, her lips were already murmuring the spell to mend bruises and hurts (how many times had she used it then?) but she stopped abruptly.

"What am I doing?" she whispered.

Magic. Magic had led to _this._ No, she wasn't going to. He could get better with some aspirin and some band aids once he woke up. If he wasn't a boggart. Her lip curled in derision.

"Tonks?"

She choked and looked down.

Two glassy eyes stared at her, barely comprehending.

"No," she said. Nymphadora Tonks was dead too.

"Oh." He closed his eyes again and she cursed. Because if this _thing_ thought that all it would take was a little reminder for her to heal it-

It was right.

An incantation, a swift flick, a jab, and she saw the smaller scrapes heal. Another short maneuver with the wand and his body relaxed into the covers, his expression just a little less pained.

"Damn you," she told nothing in particular. Maybe it was the magic. Maybe it was him – _it_ – or maybe she was just being bitter with the world again for putting her in a place she never wanted to be.

Hermione sighed.

"I need some more hot chocolate."

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She thought, at first, that she might go to bed. _He_ certainly wouldn't notice. And it wasn't as though she would be doing anything, staying up and staring at him. But, as she'd noted before, her long-lauded common sense had long since gone down the drain. So she came back with a novel and sipped her hot chocolate from the new mug, sitting in the chair on the other side of the coffee table.

And after a few hours of staring at a page and trying to understand it, she gave up. Hermione looked back at the man asleep on her couch.

He was… the same. _Exactly_ the same. The same just-revived face, cheekbones recently come up a notch from emaciated, pale skin slowly returning to a more healthy tan. His pitch black hair had been recently cut – very badly, she remembered that day he'd tried to do it himself. And… it _felt_ like him. The same strange feeling surrounded him so that you knew when he was behind you and you knew who it was before he even spoke. The connection a tightly knit group of people had had was still there, even with the death of so very many of them.

Hermione sighed. It would have been so much easier – _so much easier_ – if she could have just found one thing wrong with him. A little strange looking in just one place so that she could safely say it was an imitation, albeit a good one. Because no creature or spell could create a perfect duplicate – not even a boggart, which pulled it straight from your mind. It was too much to hold at once, too intricate and intangible to imitate.

And as she stared, she could still remember when he had been more than a memory…

_"What if, one of these times, I'm not there?"_

_She looked up from her side of the table where she'd been looking at her sandwich. Sirius was sitting quite still, his eyes centered on the coffee that swirled in his cup._

_"What if, one of these times, someone dies and I could've been there to stop it?"_

_Hermione realized he was talking to her. She sighed and looked away._

_"You know you can't go out," she told him, sympathizing as she did._

_He frowned, but it was only at the coffee cup. "I know," he told her._

"Should've waited," she muttered unhappily. "You would've been there when it counted, damn you." Maybe she wasn't being fair. At this point, though, she wasn't even sure if she was sane, talking to the all-too-solid ghost of a man who was laying unconscious on her couch after nineteen years.

Her eyes scanned him again, desperate to find something out of place now, _anything._ But she couldn't. Nothing but his damp hair that fell in all the right places, shadowing all the right places, where he'd once looked so frightening. It was then that she took care to notice that he was returning to being a handsome man – he had once been, hadn't he? – and that the strain had _almost_ left his face.

No doubt he would have something clever to say when he woke up. If it was him.

Hermione yawned, stretching tiredly as her body protested her sleeping habits. _She_ could stay up for days if she wanted to, it seemed to say, but it would be shortly curling up, covers or no. But she'd resisted sleep before, she'd done it for what seemed forever before, and this was nothing new.

She turned toward the window and realized then why she was so tired. The sun had risen, just barely, somewhere through the clouds. The light that filtered in through the window was dim and damp and gray – it did almost nothing to lighten the stormy sky outside, while it did less than nothing to lighten the living room.

A sound behind her made her jump in surprise, twisting back around in her chair.

He was staring at her now with the same eyes – eyes that remembered Azkaban – dark and haunted deep inside. But they were clear now, and awake, and there was no flicker of recognition.

"Who are you?"

She froze.

What to say? What _could_ she say? She hadn't seen this man for nineteen years. Hadn't spoken to him, hadn't tried to understand him, for at least that long. In fact… the last memories she even had of him were of a faintly surprised man, descending into darkness.

Sirius studied her with his eyes, perhaps trying to read her before he would have to talk to her.

After a moment, his lips quirked sardonically. "Do you, perchance, have a name?" he asked. "Or will I have to guess?"

Well. There was a question. One she probably should answer.

But… nothing would come out.

Sirius seemed faintly annoyed, but he continued nonetheless. "Why don't we start somewhere simpler, then. Where am I?"

She swallowed, and her voice came back. "My home," she managed. "On my couch."

"Ah. So I see." His gaze flicked over the utterly plain, utterly _muggle_ clothes she was wearing, and she could _feel_ his opinion of her drop lower. Oh, I see. Not part of the family, but not quite outside their prejudices.

It almost snapped her from her stunned silence. Almost.

"And…" he continued slowly, as though talking to a child, "Where would your house _be?"_

Oh, now that cinched it.

"Excuse me," she told him, suddenly quite articulate once more. "I _did_ have some aspirin for that little gash across your chest, but perhaps it should wait until you find your _manners."_ She spun away, tightlipped, and moved toward the kitchen.

That… ingrate! No, the fact that she was a friend didn't matter. The fact that she hadn't seen him in an eternity, the fact that she'd thought him long dead like everyone else, none of that mattered. She'd taken him into her house – she'd _broken her taboo_ to heal him – and he had the nerve to treat her like some brain dead creature because she was a muggle!

_"Half breed! Mudblood! Abomination! How dare you besmirch my house with your **filth-****"**_

_The outburst was unexpected – Hermione gasped in horror at the portrait she'd uncovered, an older woman whose face had twisted into a mask of rage. The woman screamed at her hoarsely, and she cowered back in shock and fear and **shame**…_

_"Get out! GET OUT! Get your dirty blood away from my house!"_

_Her mouth worked soundlessly, and she looked around desperately for somewhere to run – somehow, she'd done something wrong and it had led to this-_

_"OUUUUT!" the woman screeched._

_ Hermione realized she was now huddled in the corner, hands over her mouth._

_"Would you SHUT UP already?"_

_The woman in the portrait was momentarily stunned to silence. An angry stomping came from the hall outside the door – and suddenly, it slammed open and a furious Sirius Black moved directly in front of the portrait._

_"Look, you hellish woman, if you don't stay quiet for once-"_

_"YOU!__ You shameful creature, you **disappointment!** You are no son of mine-" Sirius slammed the curtain shut._

_All was quiet for a moment, as he leaned against the wall, palms set against it on either side of his tiredly hanging head. Hermione froze in her corner, not quite certain what to do._

_"My, what lovely relatives I have. It's a miracle I sleep at all…"_

_She swallowed, wanting now, more even than before, to shrink into nothing on the ground. Sirius sighed and turned around._

_He froze._

_"Ah- Hermione?"___

_She managed to nod, hands still over her trembling mouth._

_"O-oh," he said uncomfortably, "I suppose you were the one that set her off… I thought Kreacher had pulled back the curtain again…"_

_There was an awkward silence._

_Sirius looked away and took a reluctant stride toward her, holding out his hand. She took it shakingly and stumbled to her feet._

_"I…hope you didn't pay any attention to her," he murmured uneasily. "She's just like that." He glanced at her sideways. "You didn't take her seriously, right?"_

_Hermione managed to nod. "Y-yes. I was just… scared." What a liar she was turning into these days… must be Ron and Harry…_

_"Oh good."__ His face visibly relaxed. "You shouldn't, really. You're one of the best witches I've known – don't think Moody and the rest won't back me up on this." He smirked and she let the air out of her lungs in a kind of relief._

_"Yes, thanks, I- I think I'm good." He looked at her intently, as though gauging something, then let her hand go._

_"Well, if you're hungry, dinner's downstairs. Molly's really outdone herself this time…"_

She'd stopped at the window. She was staring again, chin on her knees, as the rain kept coming down. She was so tired, but it really didn't matter anymore. If she slept, she dreamt, if she woke, she remembered, if she starved herself of sleep, it almost went away as she concentrated hard on staying awake. If she stayed awake…

"I'm sorry."

Hermione blinked wearily. "Yes, well. I'm tired. It's been… a long night."

She looked up to see him leaning against the kitchen wall and cursed herself. Of course he would be hurting, he still had a great burning mark across his chest. Dolt.

"Oh, just sit down," she sighed. "I'll – I'll go get the aspirin."

He stared as she passed, and she felt that same sensation, the feeling of being weighed somehow. Maybe he was wondering about her sanity. "You haven't asked my name, I've noticed," he said quietly.

She paused. _Tell him._

"I know who you are," she said.

His eyebrow raised. He was obviously skeptical. "Somehow, I doubt that."

She ignored him and went for the bottle. But she took two for herself before handing him a pair of pills as well. The effort involved in finding and filling a glass of water was much more than it should have been. She was waning.

"Bottoms up," the woman muttered as she handed it to him. He smirked and downed the tablets and she found herself suddenly wanting to tear that awful smile off his face, to tell him why he shouldn't be amused, why he should be dying inside like her.

But she held it in.

"I'm going to sleep," she announced in a weary tone. "Just… don't kill anything." And, almost as an afterthought, "I wouldn't leave, either."

Not staying to see if he connected her warning with her knowledge of him, she walked to the couch and tangled herself in the blankets he had left behind, eyelids drooping already as she curled herself into a warm little ball.

She dimly heard him lower himself gently into the chair, a tiny groan escaping him as his body bent the wound in two.

"Not as bad as it should've been," she muttered to herself, drifting and hearing their voices again in a jumbled twist of chords…

"What?"

_A tattered veil that just barely fluttered – voices she couldn't hear, but she could hear them now and she knew what they were saying…_

She rode a roll of thunder further into darkness.

_Lost.__ Looking for a way back. Oh, if only they could hear her when she called…_

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_Doom… death… oh my dear, you have the grim!_

_Can you believe her? What a bunch of bunk. Who's she think she's kidding, fifth time today…_

_Hermione?___

**_Hermione?_**__

_Come on, Hermione, wake up, don't die Hermione, you **can't** die yet-_

"Are you awake?" a half asleep voice called.

_It's not fair to leave me like this, Hermione, you know what it'll do to me…_

_But what about me?__ What about when you left me all alone?_

"Suppose not…" His hand moved to shake her gently.

Hermione muttered a curse, wishing she could find her damn wand so she could make him shut up and stop bugging her.

"Look, I'm sorry, I'm afraid I have a rather pressing need to know where I am."

_In a cold room, where there was no breeze, but the curtains whispered silently…_

"Or you could lay there like an inanimate lump. Far be it for me to make you get up from your bloody couch…"

_His eyes were wide and shocked and just a little resigned… but she only had to see them for a second before they disappeared behind the tattered veil…_

"You can't," she whispered wearily. "You can't do anything. You're _dead_."

His hands had been reaching for her again, to shake her some more. Now, however, they stopped, pressed lightly against her side.

"What?" he asked.

Hermione buried her head in her arms. "Leave me alone."

His hands pulled away hesitantly, then turned more certain. "I suppose I shall, then. Thank you ever so much for your warm hospitality (he snorted here) and I suppose I will be going now."

There was something wrong with this, she knew. He shouldn't be going out.

But she was too tired. And he was too gone and too frightening and too _wrong._

So she went back to sleep and found that she could almost pretend he'd never come back at all.__


	3. Blood and Memories

**Lost and Found**

**By Rurouni Star**

**Chapter 2 – Blood and Memories**

Waking was disorienting. It always was for her – because she always had to sort through what was real and what wasn't and what had already happened and couldn't be changed.

She remembered her dream this time. Usually, it was a quicksilver mass of memories and emotions, all bleeding into each other and running together until they made no sense at all except to hurt. But this time, she remembered. He'd been dying again (so clearly!) and she'd been right next to him and she _could have saved him_ but she didn't. She remembered that. She remembered choosing not to reach out and stop his fall, because that would make her wrong and him right. She wasn't sure how or why it worked like that, but he was already dead so it didn't matter in particular.

Hermione stifled a yawn and rubbed at her eyes, struggling to pull herself free of the blanket – and realizing as she did that she was on her couch.

_Oh yes. I had another dream, a waking dream…_

She winced as she realized she'd let him go.

Well… but what could happen? What was the worst? That someone recognize him? Oh my, after nineteen years, they'd surely be laughed at. Besides which, he was less than a memory (a post-humously decorated memory, but a memory nonetheless) and people were loathe to dredge those up. She knew that all too well.

Hermione blinked the sleep from her eyes and looked outside to see the rain _still_ coming down. Surely, it would end soon. Although it was hard to tell how long exactly it had been.

She rose, stretching, and looked into the kitchen. Exactly as she'd left it. No extra persons in her house, not even a stray dog she had thought she'd never see again. So maybe, just maybe, she _had_ been dreaming.

Happy with this decision, sure she could now waste the rest of her life away in peace and solitude, Hermione moved back to her window seat and stared out into the darkened town.

It had been so easy to make the right investments, to get herself enough money to ignore the world. After years of Arithmancy, it was _pitifully_ easy to know which stocks would do well and which would fail within their first year. And then, she retired and she withdrew and she ignored the fact that she had ever been magic in the first place.

Her thoughts wandered back to Sirius, though, no matter how much she wished they wouldn't. She remembered times when she'd stayed at Grimmauld Place, even when no one else had, just to keep him company. Like the old Hogsmeade trips for Harry…

_"Check, Sirius," she murmured absently, nibbling on the snacks he'd brought out. She always had to chew on something._

_The man across from her frowned, looking intently at the board. She knew he'd been one move from checkmating **her** – he must be wondering how she had turned the tables so suddenly. Sirius smiled, then, and moved his hand-_

_"You can't do that," Hermione said without thinking. She'd thought he would try that._

_For a moment, he had a puzzled look, then he laughed. "Good lord, Hermione, you've checkmated me again. Didn't you notice?" He ran his finger across the line she'd opened up by moving her rook and she noticed now that her bishop now held a clear line of sight to his king as well._

_"Oh. Sorry," she said sheepishly. Because she'd been hoping to hold it out longer, maybe even to let him win this time._

_"Don't apologize for winning," he told her with a grin. "Honestly, you need to get some more fight to you."_

_Hermione smiled, rubbing her arm, embarrassed. "Fine then," she told him, raising her voice. "Play me again," she commanded authoritatively._

_He winked. "Good girl. Your wish is my command."_

_Even if he didn't know it, he made her glow. Because it made her feel good to be needed and to share something private with someone, just one person. She was, for once, someone's first priority, and it was nice._

She remembered mourning for him. It was entirely possible (if it had been real) that the spell had drawn upon that mourning, no matter how long ago it had been.

It hadn't been overt. Not like Harry's yelling and sobbing or Ron's white-faced stuttering. She had never been like them. No, she was nothing like them. Her mourning was cool denial and a refusal to let herself care.

_"Check," she whispered, moving her bishop to where it had a clear shot at the king._

_"Ah… that's check**mate**, Hermione," Ron said. "Honestly, if you didn't look so awful, I'd think you've been playing without me. How did you get so good all of a sudden?"_

_"Checkmate, then," she told him tiredly. "Look, I played your one game, can I go to bed now?"_

_"But 'Mione, it's only **nine**-"_

_"I'm tired tonight," she clipped him off. _

_She moved upstairs into the girls' dorms, letting him pick up his chess set. He'd gotten her one for Christmas that year, but she still hadn't taken it out. She didn't want to remember, and no one could make her._

She never had taken that set out. It was still upstairs, with the rest of the magic she wouldn't touch. But, of course, she'd touched it now. What difference would it make to bring out even more painful memories while she was at it?

With a sigh, she pulled herself to her feet, walking again toward the dusty attic. This time, she even let herself cast the charm to destroy the dust – the place looked brand new after that, though, and she wondered whether she oughtn't to have left it dusty. Walking through such old things that looked just new made her feel eerily out of place…

It wasn't in the trunk with the rest of her magic things. A frown crossed her face, but she moved to another of the boxes and pulled it open. Potions ingredients… she'd been wanting to study more potions when she left, on her own… Hermione closed that box sharply, remembering the Polyjuice potion incident. Another box held more books – always more books and never ones she would be able to happily read. And then-

And then.

There was a picture.

Hagrid had taken it just before their third year. Before everything had started, before they were even aware that a man named Sirius Black existed. Before Lupin, before Deatheaters and the dark mark and the Tri-wizard Tournament where they first saw death. Before Voldemort was reborn.

Ron and Harry stood beside her, linked arms on either side. They smiled at her, waving and leaping to get her attention while she herself looked at each of them scoldingly, trying to get them to stay still for the photo. Ron winked at her in that way he had, and Hermione had to look away. These two people did not _exist_ anymore, but she wanted to believe that they did so badly…

_Like the mirror of Erised,_ she thought faintly. _I could sit here and stare and hurt for the rest of my life, trying to believe…_

But wasn't that what she'd been doing anyway?

She stowed the photo in a pocket and found the chess set in short order, leaving and closing the attic door this time. She didn't want to be tempted to come back up.

Hermione set the chess board down on the table and opened the box that held the pieces for the first time.

They were ornate. Breathtakingly so. These – these were better than Ron's set, which he had so painstakingly taken care of for so many years. The robes of the pieces (historic witches and wizards, how thoughtful of him) flowed in tandem, as though a wind had swept through the board all at once. They stood proudly at attention, as though awaiting her orders…

She felt her eyes tear up as she realized – Ron must've spent quite a bit on this set. It was even more valuable for the fact that he hadn't much money in the first place. And she hadn't ever even _used_ it…

When she took out the photo again this time, he was putting an arm around the other Hermione, laughing as she tried halfheartedly to pull away. The tears managed to leak out, and she had to push aside the photo to put her head down on the board.

_I shouldn't have… I should have left it…_

She didn't look up as the door slammed open. Nor did she say a word as stomping footsteps made their way toward her.

A strong hand pulled her up by the back of her shirt, spinning her around to face a very livid, very wet and very disbelieving Sirius Black.

"What is this!" he demanded, pushing a newspaper in front of her face.

It wasn't a wizarding newspaper, and it was somewhat limp from being wet. But she could see it clearly, for all her tears.

"What?" she asked him hoarsely, wishing he'd left her alone and remained an awful dream. "What, are you interested in how the stocks are doing now? Oil prices bothering you?" She felt her lip curl into a sneer, but the tears were still coming. He didn't seem to care.

"Very funny," he hissed at her, and she could now see that there was fear in his eyes. _This is Sirius, my Sirius, the same one from the time he died… I've just never seen this side of him before…_ "You can't tell me you don't know!"

Ah yes. Yes. Since he was the same… the date _would_ bother him.

"Go on," she told him, part angry and part hurt and part wanting to hug him and beg him not to disappear. "Go on and ask me. I'll tell you the truth, I swear, even if you try to make me lie."

His face was flushed from rage. "Why does the newspaper say that this year is two thousand fifteen?" he said in a low, threatening voice.

And she looked him straight in the eye, and kept on crying. "Because it _is_ two thousand fifteen."

His mouth tightened as she knew it would, and he threw her against the wall with a strength she hadn't known he had possessed. "You're _lying!_" he shouted at her, his face very close now. "Tell me the truth!"

She was shocked, and she was sure her face showed it. Because even though she knew she was different now, knew he probably wouldn't recognize her (wouldn't want to, wouldn't believe it if he thought it) she had never truly believed that Sirius Black could hurt _her._

"You-" she whispered. "You…"

His face went white, and he stepped back from her, apparently realizing just how far he had gone. And maybe, just maybe, he suspected who she was – and maybe it was just the utter betrayal in her eyes.

_You left us. You left when I needed you and you don't even know it, and I can't hurt you for it but I **want** to-_

And she pulled her wand from her pocket, tears still flowing down the angry red tracts on her face and yelled "Sterno!"

His face turned surprised for only a moment before he was flung away from her and thrown to the ground. It gave her an awful sense of satisfaction, because he hadn't known she was a wizard or that she was capable of such a thing. "Vulnero!" she screamed, drawing her wand down with effort – he hissed in pain as the wound on his chest began to bleed again.

And Hermione dropped her wand, face pale, as she realized what she was doing.

She put a hand over her mouth and dropped to her knees, the tears still going.

"Bloody _hell_," he managed a moment later, pulling himself up against the wall shakily.

She thought he summarized it quite nicely.

It was funny though, Hermione thought dully. Because she was crying in a corner again, except this time he knew it. And, unlike last time, he probably wouldn't care about the palpable pain in her chest, the ache she hadn't been able to rid herself of for that whole time he'd been gone. It was in the place where her heart was, but she knew logically that the pain came from her _mind_ and not her heart, so why did it hurt there?

"Damn you," she choked. "Even though it's not your fault!"

He staggered over to the wand, not even bothering to try for it secretly. His hand closed around it and she didn't stop him.

"Tell me what's going on," he rasped. "And how you know me."

Hermione didn't answer. She'd already decided that if death ever came to stare her in the eyes, she'd let it do as it wanted.

"Tell me!" he said again, but he couldn't manage a tone higher than a hoarse whisper now.

And before he could do a thing, she was hugging him and sobbing into him and saying it over and over, just like she'd felt before – the thing she'd tried to voice for years and never managed. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I _failed_…"

She wasn't sure why he didn't just throw her to the ground and demand an answer again. Maybe it was that strange connection she'd noticed, or maybe he retained some of that good, merciful character even after twelve years in Azkaban had eroded his sanity. But he stayed stock still… and, eventually, closed trembling arms about her, his forehead coming to rest on her shoulder.

"Why?" he asked her in a soft tone. It was a question that held so very many meanings, but she took it to mean _why are you sorry, why did you fail…_

"B-because I couldn't save you," she told him. "And I c-couldn't save them…" _Because I'm supposed to be the know-it-all, the best witch in the wizarding world, but I couldn't do a thing…_

"When did you ever…" he hesitated, as though not quite believing it, "have to save me?"

Hermione sniffled. "When you f-fell through the c-curtain… you were _dead_, we all thought so…"

He stiffened at this, and she felt his mind working now. _We?_He seemed to be thinking. And then, most likely, _She__ knows about that._

"How long-" his voice broke. "How long ago?" he asked hoarsely. "Nineteen years?"

She couldn't answer though. Because he was real, he was solid, and he wasn't dead. She really had brought someone back, just one person, and for now, it was enough.

Sirius seemed to realize that she'd already reached her breaking point. Because he was silent while she absorbed him and cried.

It was when her hand came to rest on his chest, though, that she realized something warm, wet, and sticky had soaked through his shirt and that it was her fault.

"I-" She pulled away abruptly, looking at the blood on her hand.

"Don't worry about it," he muttered, now looking a little pink and a little exhausted. "I've been through worse – _believe_ me."

_Oh. Azkaban._

"I know," Hermione swallowed. "So let me anyway." She took his hand and guided him to the couch, then hurried to the kitchen to retrieve her first aid kit. "There's no medi-potions around here, I'm afraid – you m-must've noticed I live in a muggle neighborhood…" She gave him a shaky smile. "But I suppose I'll do the best with what I have and whip something up for you tonight."

He blinked somewhat dizzily, as though to say _Tonight__? I'm staying? When exactly did you decide this, when you tossed me around like a rag doll or when you started crying on me?_

She ignored it politely and began to pull on his shirt.

And he, being the strangely immodest person he was, pulled it off himself quite easily. Hermione caught her breath and winced.

It looked much worse than she'd thought. Bellatrix had really pulled out all the stops – of course, darker magic _was_ her area of study, but Hermione had never seen such devastating damage from that particular spell.

"Ouch," she murmured as she pulled out the antiseptic.

Sirius' lips twitched. "Quite."

The dried blood was cleaned up in rather short order, but Hermione stopped to nibble at the cut on her thumb, as she'd taken to doing when she was nervous. She wondered for a moment whether she ought to tell him about the antiseptic. It seemed best to just get it over with, so she smeared her handkerchief with it and drew it down the gash, expecting a rather nasty swearing streak at the least (considering who she was dealing with).

But Sirius didn't even blink.

_Well. He **did** take it initially without so much as a whimper. Suppose I should have expected it…_

Hermione pulled the handkerchief off, wincing as she saw the new stain of red on it. It really did have to hurt.

Next was the gauze, and then the tape (gently as she could, though he never really complained) and the bandaging around it to make sure nothing got inside.

When she was done, she moved to wipe her hand across her forehead – she had to blink for a moment to realize that he'd caught her wrist.

"When did this happen?" he asked seriously.

Hermione looked down and nearly laughed. The cut she'd been nibbling at had broken again – her thumb was smeared with blood. Before she could answer, however, he reached for the same cloth and gently swabbed away the blood, putting a band-aid in place rather quickly for someone who was supposed to be a pureblood. _Ah, but he was on the run for a few years, he must've learned…_

"There," he told her. "All better my dear crazy woman whose name starts with an 'H'." For a moment, she wondered how he knew – then her eyes caught sight of the handkerchief, which had her initials on it. His face was strained – obviously, he was trying to find some kind of humor in the situation.

She gathered her courage, looking past his eyes into the small haunted part, the part that would probably never leave them. Because he'd been through worse, and he deserved to know.

She uttered the most frightening word then that she'd ever had to. "Hermione."

He blinked.

"What?"

_Oh please, please lord let him have heard, don't make me say it again._ But she did anyway. "My name is Hermione, Sirius. Nineteen years."

And if she'd thought he was white before, she had been wrong. Now, he was positively ghost-like.

His eyes darted down to the two initials. _H.G._

Hermione Granger.__


	4. The Remainder

**Lost and Found**

**By Rurouni Star**

**Chapter 3 – The Remainder**

Hermione herself was not a heavy drinker. She didn't like the feeling of not being in control, not knowing what you'd wake up having done in the morning. But she, like many people, knew that there were a few situations in which a drink not only highly comforting, but highly advisable.

This was one such time.

"I have some rum," she said to Sirius, rising to her feet. "I'll go get it, shall I?"

He didn't say anything. But he seemed to be looking at her again, gauging her as before. _This Hermione, she's different, I can tell – something's happened –_

"I'll take that as a yes," she muttered.

When she came back, he was looking at the chessboard. Hermione poured them each a nice, hefty glass and left the bottle, just in case. "Shall we set it up?" she asked mildly.

He put his head into one of his hands. "Yes. Yes, of course." And then, with remarkable recovery that spoke highly of denial, he laughed. "I will win this time, you realize."

She smiled, and felt something inside her spark. "Just like you won all the other times, of course." He had never once won. "But… I have been slightly out of practice. So you might."

Hermione gestured to the figures – their faces lit up with absolute delight at finally being used, and she almost felt pity for them. In moments, the board was filled. They had apparently decided to name her white this time.

"Exactly how out of practice?" Sirius asked, becoming more comfortable now with the normalcy of it all. For him it had only been a week or so, after all.

"Nineteen years," she told him.

He seemed to realize then that it had been a touchy subject. He didn't pursue it.

Hermione moved first, her queen's pawn, trying to remember precisely why she'd been so enamored of that particular opening move. It escaped her at the moment. There were certain patterns, certain ways and pieces that went with it…

He reacted, much more quickly than she'd thought, taking a few of the center squares for himself. She'd taught him that. Hold your position in the middle, and you've won.

"Hermione?" he asked, apparently trying to fit the name to the person. Well. At least she didn't have to prove anything.

"Yes, yes," she said. "I'm moving." And she did, protecting her queen's pawn with her knight. She remembered loving that move as well, just the sheer simplicity of protecting a piece with another piece that was also protected…

He made his move again, and something inside her sank. He'd just played her the other day, at her best. Her, she'd played him… but it had been _much_ too long. Her next move was sluggish, almost, and she found she'd lost her touch for noticing when pieces were in trouble – he frowned as he ordered his own bishop to take one of her pieces, leaving her at a huge material disadvantage early on.

What had happened to the genius, he seemed to want to ask. What happened to her zest and her careful planning and her brilliance?

"Check," he told her.

Hermione closed her eyes and tried to think what her best move would be. She didn't have many options. A pawn, when in doubt, move a pawn, but she _couldn't_ because she was in check-

"Oh," she said quietly. "It's check_mate_ Sirius… remember?"

He looked away from the board. She'd thought he'd be ecstatic at winning… but apparently, it was an empty victory.

For a moment, she floundered. Familiar ground was wasted. How to connect to someone she hadn't known for years, had even mourned for…

A slow, determined smile inched its way across her face.

Because her brilliance was still there. She knew it. It was just buried, deep, because she would have to relearn.

"Again."

He looked up at her, blinking, as she waved her hand. The pieces reassembled themselves jubilantly, shaking each others' hands, and going back to their respective sides.

"_This_ time," she told him, "will be different." She took a sip from her rum and noted that he did the same. It reassured her, warm and heady, and she felt her long disused mind coming back to her. Slowly, but surely.

"Pawn to d4." Queen's pawn.

He raised an eyebrow. "Pawn to d5." Another queen's pawn, to block her. Not always advisable, but then, he'd always been a bold player…

Her chess knowledge began to brush itself off. She remembered now. She'd always told him his defense was weak – he went charging after every little apparent opening – but he'd never listened. Even Hermione, with her now-limited amount of chess knowledge, could work with that.

Her pieces seemed to understand her thoughts. They eyed him as he made more and more daring moves, opening himself up to anyone who had the know-how.

When her white-squared bishop reached the middle, she found she knew where to go. She had never once lost once she'd reached that position, not even with Ron.

And though her follow-up was messy, stupid even, in some places, she was rather proud of herself when she moved to flick the sour-faced king over, to roll off the board and into the hand of a rather surprised-looking Sirius.

"Mate," she finished.

Sirius looked at the board, then at her face.

"Depressing," he grumbled. "All that time and I _still_ lose…" He took a quick swig of the rum. "Was I really that awful a player?"

She laughed, a bit harder than she had to, possibly. "Well… not really. Just right now, though…" She pointed to a small corner of the board, where his king had been, guarded only by a queen who'd been able to do precisely nothing before. "Your defense was absolutely horrid. You always need at least two pawns…" Her thumb moved to her mouth, almost unknowingly, but he put a hand on hers and pulled it down.

"I remember you needing something to munch on all the time," he told her with a grin. "But shouldn't you get some carrot sticks or something instead of your oh-so-gallantly patched thumb?"

She blushed – then realized that he was, for lack of anything better in a strange situation, turning on his patented charm. How strange to be on the receiving end when she was actually old enough to appreciate it.

"I suppose so," she muttered. "Is this your way of saying you're hungry, Sirius?" He laughed disbelievingly and drew back as though hurt. In truth, he looked startled that she was actually bantering with him.

"Well, you know what they say," he joked, "Feed a dog for a day…"

Hermione bit her lip to keep from chuckling. "Good lord, do I really want to keep you, though? You _are_ a rather disreputable dog, for all that you've been pardoned."

At this, he froze. She realized a moment later that she'd unwittingly broken the seal on the one topic they really shouldn't have been discussing just yet.

"Hermione…" he started. "You-"

"I'm going to get some carrot sticks," she said quickly. "And – and failing that, celery, even though I know you hate it."

When she made it to the fridge, she wasn't sure whether to let her head fall against it or shrug impotently. He was bound to find out some details eventually, and actually, she couldn't imagine leaving him hanging. It was… an impasse.

And as she looked for the carrots, she remembered something Professor- _Remus_ had said to her once, right after everything went to hell.

_"I wouldn't want to be the one to tell Sirius about… this. If he were alive, that is."_

Her expression turned to a frown. _Damn you, Lupin, you prophet. If I ever see you again-_

_You'll be overjoyed. Because I know I'll have him with me. Damn it._

She sighed. She couldn't use her excuse of carrots now. She had them out.

Oh well. There was always room for dressing.

And once she'd thoroughly procrastinated by pulling out the dressing and a plate and a nice little bowl to dip in, she had absolutely nothing left to excuse herself from going back.

She brought the dish out and nibbled on a carrot stick, ignoring his intense gaze.

"I'm free."

It was a statement, more than a question. She desperately wanted not to get his hopes up, for not only was he supposedly _dead_, many of the people he'd cared about most were gone.

But… "Yes," she told him quietly.

A shiver went through him at this, and she saw a strange look come into his eyes, as though he wanted to grab her and shout it to the world or something similar. She was certain he came close at one point, but his mouth shut before he could do so. His eyes closed for a moment while he composed himself.

"Another game, please?" he said, eyes still closed.

Hermione tsked. "I thought we were supposed to be forceful, Sirius."

He opened his eyes and she shuddered at the look he gave her. A pure and fervent relief that couldn't be expressed in words. Free was the closest thing to say, and it had been said. "Then play me again, or I'll-"

"What?" she asked ironically, leaning back into her chair with a smirk she didn't know she was capable of. "Turn me into a newt? I've got the wand. Yours is lost and god knows where it is now – though I'll fix that, eventually." He laughed and opened his mouth to retort, but she beat him to it with a warm giddiness she hadn't been aware of before. "But _that_ will be when I tire of having you do dishes and being at my beck and call!" Rum. It had to be the rum.

Sirius' mouth split into a full grin now. "This is assuming I don't just steal it while you're sleeping. And I assure you, as a Marauder, I have _much_ more creative punishments at my disposal."

Hermione made a face. "You've forgotten, I was one of the fantastic three. That's _got_ to count for something." She pushed away the memories very easily this time. She was _happy_, damn it, and they couldn't ruin it.

He waved his hand, this time, and the pieces marched back into place. "Fine then," he said with a straight face that she was _sure_ he was faking. "We play for keeps this time. The wand."

Hermione laughed. "Oh good. This will be fun." Her queen looked up to wink at her this time, nudging the bishop next to her and whispering something in his ear. He laughed at first, then coughed and took back up his pious position. Apparently, bishops weren't supposed to think like that.

"Oh," she said down to the queen. "And just what were _you_ thinking?"

"That you should most certainly lose to this rascal," the piece called back loudly, though it was a mere squeak to her. "Seems like you'd have some _fun_ with him!"

Hermione choked. "That-"

"-sounds like a good idea," Sirius answered promptly, winking at her. "I'd like to see what dances you can come up with after a tarantallegra curse."

She sniffed. "And I'd love to see how you'd look in pink."

He waved his hand. "Not happening today, 'Mione."

She blinked.

_'Mione?___

**_Well._**

The board had to shift to let him go first this time. He smirked at her, and she quite suddenly felt discomfort take her.

_What is he planning?_

"Pawn to d4." His queen's pawn moved forward two spaces.

Her mouth fell open. _You – bastard! I don't believe you!_ Because if she played her favorite queen's pawn in return…

She'd be playing a bold game.

What an awful, bloody, _brilliant_ bastard he was. Even as she thought this, she got a very warm feeling in her chest. She was glad he was back.

"Fine," she muttered, and her thumb almost strayed to her mouth – but she realized just in time and went for a carrot stick instead.

She could counter more mildly, but he would just solidify his position in middle by bringing out the other pawn. God, she'd be in trouble then. And if he followed by protecting with a knight…

"Fine," she repeated, more loudly this time. "You'll regret that – mutt." He pretended not to hear her. "Pawn to e5." Her pawn saluted her before going in to die. Her queen twittered, waving at it as it went.

Sirius took her pawn, naturally. She frowned and bit into her carrot. She could work with this. Hopefully.

_The e-file is open… I'll have to castle soon…_

His next move was to develop his knight to protect the center from her. Hermione found that she really didn't like him when he played defensively. It was… uncanny.

She moved her pawn up, to simultaneously threaten and clear the way for her knight to also get out of the way. And, strangely, he moved his queen up.

_What **is** he doing?_ She was probably playing badly. Well, good for him, because it had been too long for her to think rationally in this game.

"Move?" he asked annoyingly.

"Yes, yes, I know," she said, thinking he was really quite pesky when he set his mind to it. How _had_ she not noticed before?

Hermione moved her right side pawn forward to protect her bishop – and swore, right after she took her hand from it.

That was it. _That_ was what he was after. That drattedly unprotected side she always forgot about.

His queen moved to take her rook and she groaned.

"Yes," he said, nodding. "I think we'll see if you're good at tango."

_Bastard._

Looking to salvage her gaping mistake, Hermione moved her left side knight out of the way and made it protect her bishop (which, damn it, why hadn't she gotten that out earlier?).

This time, he frowned for a whole thirty seconds – then moved his queen to take her right side knight, when he was sure there were no tricks. _Great.__ What do I do from here? This is looking like the shortest chess game in history…_

Deciding to go with her original plan, Hermione castled. Sirius moved his queen out a bit, and the game progressed with interest.

At the point where she found she was nine points down in material, she realized she just might be doomed to dancing.

Sirius smiled at her discomfort. And well he should – she'd never seen such a brilliantly played defense.

And then, when the tables turned so utterly obviously, she decided to go out with a bang.

_Aha!_ Her expression seemed to say, and suddenly he was not looking quite so confident.

Hermione moved her queen to take his bishop – a lock that had been there for a while – and pretended that it didn't bother her that her queen was about to die.

Sirius blinked.

And then… he paused.

She watched as his eyes flicked from piece to piece, to every possible angle she could counter from. His expression then turned puzzled. Because (and she knew this well) there was no visible reason for her action. It was _stupid!_

_Bah. Figure that out if you can, Sirius Black._

Finally, after what seemed like hours, he took her queen, shrugging as he did so, ready for her next move that would stun and astonish him and checkmate him.

But Hermione did no such move.

She instead moved her knight to take his pawn. And watched as it, too, got decimated.

Now her pieces seemed to be having fun, for all that they were being destroyed one by one. They charged the enemy blindly – and one even refused to die, despite the obvious fact that it was supposed to. Sirius gave it a frown and poked it – it shot him a superior look and collapsed into pieces.

And, finally, when he checkmated her, Hermione smiled complacently and handed him her wand.

"What on _earth_ are you so smug about?" he asked, flabbergasted.

"What?" she asked innocently. "Weren't you going to make me dance?" Oh, he _had_ to have seen through her expression by now.

Sirius sighed. "I should, you know. But I have this feeling I won't be getting a potion if I do…"

And.

He handed her wand back to her.

Hermione blinked.

"What?" he asked. And she could _swear_ his expression now looked just like hers had.

"God," she muttered. "You win in every way."

He ruffled her hair like he had. "You betcha. But would it be too much to ask, at this point, for that medi-potion?"

She laughed helplessly and rose to walk to the attic once again.

.

.

.

.

.

The first thing she had to do was find the book. That was the first part of almost every process involving magic – find a book.

However… she couldn't quite remember which one it was.

_Was it fifth year or sixth year… or did they maybe teach it fourth, because they wanted to have us ready early… _

A voice came back to her, making her laugh unhappily. _Constant vigilance!_

No. It wasn't fourth year. If it had been fourth, she would have been able to help him…

"Something you're looking for?"

Hermione made a face.

"Yes, in fact. I can't remember what year medi-potions were. In fact, if I weren't so sure Dumbledore had insisted we learn them, I would suspect that Snape hadn't taught them. Can't see him really teaching us something non-lethal, after all…"

She blinked at the sudden silence and turned around to look at him. Sirius' face had turned to a scowl and she remembered belatedly that the two had had a rivalry. Before she could say anything to him, however, his face turned partially repentant. Because Snape could be dead, for all he knew, and you weren't supposed to hate the dead…

"He's still alive," Hermione said gently. "First Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher to have lasted longer than a year in the longest time…"

Sirius relaxed at this, apparently feeling much better about hating Snape again. "Slimy haired git got his position, did he?"

_Oh, Sirius, if you only knew what that slimy haired git did for your godson before the end…_

"He's a good person…" At his scowl, she laughed. "Deep, deep, deep, deep, _deep_ down inside. But it's there – you know he was spying for us, even though there was a good chance he'd been found out."

Sirius muttered something unhappy, but shook his head. "In any case, I would suggest you try this one…" He knelt down with a hand to his chest, reaching out for the book. Hermione moved to steady him and frowned.

"I could've found it, you know," she told him. "You and your… your not-staying-put!" _Oh. Oops. Wrong thing to say._

At this, Sirius looked at her sharply. And she knew, even before he asked it, that he was going to say the one thing she couldn't let him. "Well look at that!" she interrupted. "It's in there! Why don't you go sit down for a bit while I find the ingredients…"

With that, she turned her back to him, rummaging here and there for some sage, some Avalon leaves…

He left after a moment, and she couldn't help but feel her heart pound just a little bit harder. Because maybe he'd caught a hint, and maybe he would start losing that utterly blissful denial soon…

The cauldron was, of course, the last thing on the list. It took a bit of moving, but eventually she managed to haul it down the stairs.

When she got to the living room, she noticed that Sirius was looking at her photo. She felt her mouth go dry, but didn't stop him. She knew he was looking at her in that photo, trying to fit her to the person before him. Because _that_ Hermione was years closer to the one he knew. A less awkward Hermione, a less unhappy Hermione. Back when she knew it all, still.

For lack of a decent place to start a fire, she shrunk her cauldron and moved it on top of the stove. Ah, how strange – Snape would have gone apoplectic if he'd even suspected she would use such an improvised means to brew one of his beloved potions…

Hermione looked at the book, trying very hard not to be aware of the man in her living room who was lost and probably very alone and very… afraid? Afraid was an extreme word to use for Sirius. She had the hunch that he could never quite be frightened again, after the dementors. And yet, he was. Afraid of hearing that his godson was dead and that he would never see him again, except in those damningly cheerful photos that waved and smiled…

_Ah. It's turned green. Clockwise, Hermione, clockwise._

She gave it a tasteful swish of the wand and heard a little pop. The potion was done.

Quickly, she poured a bit into a cup and took it out to him. He looked up at her once, eyes focused and intent, comparing and contrasting and trying to find little clues. She tried to smile.

Hermione went back after that and bottled the rest of the potion with frightening ease. Waste not, want not… but she was slipping back into the magic world, little by little. And she had the feeling that she was already too far in to stop.

When she came back, Sirius was staring into the cup with a look of careful distaste. "I always hated these things…" he muttered. "At least, I seem to remember doing so. Last time I had one was when _I_ was at Hogwarts."

Hermione shrugged. "I always thought they were just a bit tangy, but maybe that's just me."

He snorted, but pulled the cup to his lips. In one quick swallow, it was gone, and his face took on an interestingly sour expression. "This is the overnight one, yes?" he asked her.

She laughed nervously. Because soon, there would be no more stalling, and there would be questions… "Well, I don't exactly have the ingredients for a one hour potion lying around, now do I? Some of those things are illegal to sell to someone like me…"

Sirius looked at her inquiringly. "And what exactly are you?" he said. "I would've expected you to be in the ministry by now, maybe even Assistant Minister."

Hermione sighed. No putting it off, was there?

"I'm sure," she said slowly, "that if I really tried, I _could_ get a few of those things. War hero, and all…" His interest was immediately sparked, she could tell. _Finally_, his expression seemed to say, _out with it._ "…but I never traded on it. People don't like to be reminded, after all."

He was silent, and she shot him a look, both grateful and pitying at the same time. It would be so much harder if he asked her… but he wasn't going to like what she had to say.

So she started straight into it and tried not to lose herself in the memories again.

"Cornelius Fudge," she told him, "resigned from office the year directly after you… well, you disappeared. We were all told, of course, that it was impossible for anyone to come out from the veil, so we naturally thought that you were, um…"

"Dead," he finished, looking quite unhappy with this news, but having expected it from certain hints.

"Well, yes," she said lamely. "But I'm sure you can imagine… it took a while to get over it, and no one ever really did. I think sometimes that Dumbledore blamed – _blames_ – himself. Because he'd just arrived, you see, and we all expect when he's there that nothing can _really_ go wrong…" Sirius winced. She knew he respected Dumbledore quite a bit. And now, she knew that he was blaming himself for going after Harry. But it was such a delicate thing, deciding blame, and that hadn't even been the most important event during that time, so she tried not to concern herself with it. "So – so Fudge. Yes. He resigned. Because everyone knew that he'd screwed up when the first dark mark hit the sky."

"Who was it?" he asked on impulse, wanting – _needing_ – to know.

"Oh," she said in a small voice. "It- it's not important."

His face took on a suspicious look, but she ignored it and forged ahead. "In any case, Mr. Weasley took over for him – you remember how people were always trying to promote him – but he did a much better job, I should think. Organized everyone straight away, gave Dumbledore free reign, and pulled the aurors out of their semi-retirement and sic'd them at the people they could prove were death eaters. Moody was… delighted, of course."

"Of course," Sirius murmured.

"The aurors started keeping tabs on some of the better-known former death eaters, and they put different guards at Azkaban. I only really know a lot of this because of how close they kept me to a lot of it… even though… I didn't, um… stay at the headquarters a lot." She averted her eyes, wondering if he was aware of the reason. Oh, he probably was. Plenty of bad memories for Sirius Black to stay away from, after all. But did he know how to stay away from the good ones, the bittersweet ones?

"It went pretty badly, still, the first year. Voldemort had surprise on his side and we were still disorganized just from time constraints. The- the first month… we lost a lot of people."

Sirius wanted to ask something, she knew, something potentially painful by his look, but something he would need to know. "Anyone I knew?" he asked her quietly.

"No," she managed. "No one – no one _you_ knew." _Just Dean and Cho and Padma and Parvati-_ "After that…" she whispered. "Dumbledore opened Hogwarts to the students. During the summer."

Sirius leaned back into the couch with a hand at his temple, trying to absorb the information. And for a moment, just a flicker of a moment, she _understood_ exactly what he was feeling. Just a day, to him, when things still looked hopeful, and suddenly he was bombarded with deaths and hurt and a whole war he felt he might have played a part in. His chance had been stolen from him.

"But," she said with a tiny sigh, "It got a little better after that. People began to band together. We had fewer… casualties…" the word was harsh from her tongue, "…because they started looking after one another. And," her face took on a savage look, "We managed to kill a few of the Deatheaters as time went by." _Lucius Malfoy, his face forever frozen in that last sneer… _But the memory was tainted, because she couldn't help but remember the boy in the corner, head in his hands, because Draco had lost the man he'd always looked up to…

It was amazing to her that he hadn't tried to kill them. It was the logical thing for him to do, after what they knew of him. But instead, he secluded himself from the war… she hadn't heard a thing about him since.

Maybe he'd become like her. Strange as the thought was.

"Hermione?" Sirius asked quietly.

She swallowed and found that it was hard to continue. But she did it anyway.

"Voldemort… he knew the war was getting bad. He decided to strike where it would hurt most. And…" Her voice choked. "He chose Hogwarts."

Sirius' hand found hers across the table, lending her quiet support, but she knew he would hate her. One way or another, she was responsible for what happened next.

"He attacked with the Imperious curse first… he took a few of the students and had them open the doors at night. Snape barely managed to let Dumbledore know in time. And… we were out, that night. Under the invisibility cloak."

_Come out, come out, wherever you are, Potter. You can't fool the Dark Lord with such a thing as a cloak…_

"They locked down the common rooms before they noticed," she whispered. "And you wouldn't believe it, would you… but Snape went out looking for us."

_Shall I, my lord? I can hear them breathing…_

Her hand tightened.

"They told me to run. Damn… damn Gryffindor heroics. They told me they'd be a distraction, that I had to go find help and all that. And I- I-" She let her head fall to her hand. "I _believed_ them. When they said they wouldn't die."

_The flash of green light.__ Running, screaming, anyone, anyone, come please- hoping they were okay, knowing it was improbable, but he was the Boy-Who-Lived and he'd live again, wouldn't he?_

She couldn't continue. Not now.

And he knew the truth, so he could despise her all he wanted.

"Hermione…" Sirius managed hoarsely. "You-"

"I ran," she sobbed. "But I d-didn't find him until it was too late, and Snape told me to run too while he tried to s-salvage the s-situation-"

_Damnit, girl, **run**! Or has that know-it-all brain finally blanked on you? Find the nearest portrait and tell them!_

She was faintly aware of him rising and letting go of her hand. And she knew – all the chess in the world couldn't make it better again.

The door opened.

She heard him scream – something between a curse and a sob – and his fist hit the wall.

But the story hadn't ended there.

It couldn't.


	5. Sleepless

**Lost and Found**

**By Rurouni Star**

A/N: One of the reviewers asked why Hermione didn't just tell a closer portrait. The castle was having a lockdown, which included the portraits. This is assuming they can be hurt in some way, and would have to go somewhere else (probably Dumbledore's office). I didn't want to just insert it into the story (oh, and by the way, while we're angsting, the reason for this and this and this… etc). You'll notice that she has to go find Sir Cadogan, who would have naturally insisted on staying outside. As for Hermione's behavior, well, it just happened. You'd have to take it up with her.

**Chapter 4 – Sleepless**

_H-Hermione?__ Wh-where's H-Harry and R-Ron? _

_Gone.___

_Gone where?_

_Gone.___

_Where? Where are they? Tell me where!_

_And she led him, because she'd already told Sir Cadogan, and he could take the bloody responsibility now. Neville had to know where she was taking him anyway – something in his face told her he knew._

_The voices ahead, sneering and laughing.__ Victory, victory, can you believe it was so easy, right under that old fool's nose, too-_

_And Snape, Snape there too, talking angrily about some dratted girl that slipped past him – but Voldemort congratulating him because nothing could possibly hurt him ever, now that he had killed his threat._

_Ready, Neville?___

_There's no going back, Neville._

_You're sure, Neville?_

_Then we should go._

_Screaming, yelling, crying, two veritable children against a group of them and a dark lord.__ But goodness, their faces, their comically surprised faces as two of them died so suddenly with the two shouted words the two students might have once shunned violently._

_Slice, stun, kill. A mantra, a pattern, in the middle of chaos. She remembered the twisted look on her potions master's face – no, you fool girl, he seemed to say, you've doomed me, you know, I can't stand back and watch but couldn't you have damn well waited for the cavalry?_

_No._

_No, I couldn't have._

_Avada Kedavra._

**_Avada Kedavra._**__

_Unforgivable.___

_Unforgivable, what they did. _

_I won't forgive them._

_Crucio__, crucio, crucio, all at once, they hit her, and one-_

_One of them was Snape._

_Oh look, how quaint, she came back to rescue them. You do know they're dead? You do, don't you?_

_His eyes looked into hers, showing pity for once, through the harsh words, but she cried all the same. Damn you and them and your half-muggle dark lord too._

_And Voldemort laughed, his high pitched laugh she'd only heard described, and he walked to Neville, struggling, and slashed him across the forehead. You wanted this, didn't you, this scar, this symbol of excellence. Wanted to be just like him, did you-_

_But he hadn't heard the second half of the prophecy._

_And she had to stop crying and stare, and wonder if it hadn't been this way the whole time._

_Because Neville's face was contorted with a rage she had never seen in him before. And when the dark lord gave him back his wand and bowed mockingly, and the Deatheaters laughed but glared at him for killing when it was over, Voldemort told him he couldn't win – the only one that could win was dead and he was just a bumbling squib with no talent, no talent at all…_

"Hermione…"

He closed about her, arms grasping her as though she were a lifeline. She shook her head, wondering why he hadn't taken the wand and ended it yet. She was the survivor who should never have survived, the odd one in the bunch, the coward, the one that ran-

"They- they died well. They died _well._ They would- would've wanted it that way-"

He was trying to convince himself. She could tell it wasn't working.

"It should've been me," she told him. "If I'd been any smarter, I would've told them to make it me." Eyes staring dully, huddled against him.

_And Neville bowed back, a cold rage burning in his eyes. Salute. Yes. That's how it's done._

"But he died," she whispered. "He died for it."

_Yes, boy, bow to me. Like your parents did, in madness, and then in death when Bella finished the job…_

Sirius' grip on her tightened, and she laughed and cried and wished to god she'd been the one born with the ability to kill him.

_Voldemort.___

_The name came so easily now, without fear. So strange to see the most cowardly of them all stand ramrod straight, staring into death's eyes._

_She watched and waited and looked for a wand as Snape – the man holding her back – slipped her **wand** into her hand._

_On three, girl, don't mess this up, make us go out with a bang, at the least, you dratted Gryffindor prodigy._

_But he…_

"He was-"

_He was-_

_Hurting.___

_Wands at the ready, boy, you ever been in a dueling club? Yes? Oh good, I see that you're thinking of killing me._

_One.___

_Get ready, girl. Remember, on three._

_Two.___

_A flourish.___

_You **are** ready, you know we're aiming to kill?_

_Thre__-_

_Avada Kedavra._

_Avada Kedavra._

**_Avada Kedavra._**__

_Bellatrix – dead.__ Dead by her hand. Sirius and the Longbottoms and countless other victims avenged and she didn't feel a thing._

_Macnair – dead.__ And Snape didn't seem particularly bothered by his blank face either._

_And…___

_Voldemort.___

_Was.___

_Dead.___

_A silence.___

_All of them, astonished, for it couldn't possibly happen. He was dead! Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, the only one that could have done it, because **he** was marked-_

_But the mockery of a lightning scar trickled blood down Neville Longbottom's forehead, and he bowed to the pale, green-tinted body of Lord Voldemort._

_You have to mean it, have to **mean** it for an Unforgivable-_

_The cavalry arrived, just a moment too late._

_And they realized it was over, that the Dark Lord would never threaten anyone ever again._

_Hermione looked to the faces she'd hoped not to see._

_And time stopped._

"Why?" she asked him. "I never wanted… never wanted to do that again. Not after Dumbledore asked…"

"Hermione," he told her. "You're not – _never_ – you know you're not to blame-"

"And why not?"

It was too much. How could he comfort someone else when he was hurting so much himself? It was too much to ask of him and she knew it. She didn't want his comfort – hadn't expected it – so she pulled him to her and pretended it didn't matter to her and let him do his hurting.

She'd been doing hers for seventeen years and more.

.

.

.

.

.

It was one of the hardest things she'd ever done. She'd never really gone through the correct stages of mourning, as she knew she was supposed to. Somehow, she'd gotten stuck at shock and denial, and now it was like going through all the others all at once while Sirius just tried to hang on.

And that, in itself, was somewhat frightening. Seeing the person she'd once looked up to trying to make sense of things, having him _not_ be on top of it all, having him at a disadvantage and a loss for words. She knew she would never be able to straight out tell him, either, to give him closure. Because she lacked the ability – she lacked the use of the one word that would tell him for certain. She could tell him they were gone, she could tell him they hadn't made it, but she couldn't say- she could _never_ say the one word…

"Hermione," he asked her, face on her shoulder. "Where do I go from here? Where did _you_ go?"

Her lips turned upward into a sad kind of grimace.

"Nowhere. But I went there very quickly, I'll have you know."

_Asleep… used to wake up at the crack of dawn… just sleep in, there's not really anything to do today… or tomorrow or the day after that…_

There was a flash of lightning and she sighed.

"Give me… give me something," he begged. "Anything. Tell me something to _do_."

Hermione tried to think of something. It was hard. She was so out of touch…

"I know," she said with authority. "You have to make sure people know you exist. Then, you have to tell Lupin – he'll want to know – and then…" She hesitated. "I don't know. Find a job, settle down with someone. Live life, you know?"

"I notice," he told her quietly, "that you're not taking your own advice."

"Well," she said defensively, "I sort of did. How the hell do you think you got here, anyway?"

Sirius sighed and sat up again, rubbing at his forehead. "I don't understand this. Any of this. I'm not going to pretend I do. For now, I think… I just need to sleep on it."

Hermione looked at him with a grim certainty in her eyes. "You won't sleep."

He ignored it.

"I can try."

.

.

.

.

.

She had put her head to her pillow and closed her eyes by now. But the strange thing was, after all those years of always being able to fall back on sleep, of doing that when she could think of nothing else, the thought of him trying in vain to go to sleep and forget kept her awake.

Hermione opened her eyes and shifted, certain she could find some kind of comfortable position. After a few seconds, she settled and closed her eyes again.

But then, that one really wasn't so comfortable either.

_Neville… Neville, did it fix anything? Did it make anything better?_

_No. It didn't… it didn't do anything._

_Feel full again? Did it get rid of that aching hole?_

_No. Still empty._

A tear leaked from her eye then, and she realized she was beginning to go through the beginning again. Sometimes understanding, sometimes not, sometimes crying as she realized she'd never see them again. Sometimes trying to make herself forget. And, most frightening of all, sometimes succeeding for that bare moment – then feeling the horrible, gut-wrenching _guilt_ as she realized that forgetting would mean they did it for nothing.

Hermione swallowed and got out of bed, setting her forehead against the wall. It was cool in the room, her air conditioner was working properly now. So what was missing, why couldn't she _sleep_ goddamnit?

Her thumb went to her mouth, and she bit into it without realizing.

_Nothing's better… nothing ever got better…_

Blood began to well into her mouth – she pulled away the thumb and swore softly to herself, knowing the band-aid was ruined. Why couldn't she have taken up biting her nails or something healthier?

Hermione gave up. She moved to the door and pushed it open, pulling a pillow and blanket with her as she went.

There was no sound from the couch as she set herself down on the floor.

But she knew he was awake.

"Sirius?"

A non-committal sound.

"Yeah. Thought so." She paused, leaning her back against the couch, feeling her hair brush up against the back of his hand.

There was silence for a long while as they each tried to understand. And failed.

Hermione sighed.

"You remember…" she started, "You remember when… when Harry fell down the stairs, and nearly broke my neck falling on me?"

More silence. But his fingers had brushed her hair, and now they had clenched in it helplessly.

"And when he beat Ron at chess that one time, because he'd stolen his rook from the table and bribed it to keep its mouth shut?"

She leaned back farther, into his hand, tilting her head upward. He had sat up, and his grey eyes looked down at her in the darkness.

"And Ron… Ron…" She stumbled, trying to remember. It wasn't working. Just… too long, too painful.

"Ron named his owl Pig," Sirius said in a choked voice. "Bloody bird near took one of my fingers off before I gave it to him."

Hermione sniffed. "Yeah. He tried to send me my birthday present with that owl. Poor thing came close to dying." There. There was the word she couldn't say. She'd almost said it.

"I remember," said Sirius in a tired voice. "I remember tearing into Ron's leg when I pulled him down the whomping willow. It was almost funny. He-" His voice cracked, but it was more from a helpless laughter than anything else. "He screamed like a girl. God, you have no idea how close I was to losing grip when he made that _face…_"

Hermione laughed, and it turned into a sob so quickly she wasn't sure which it really was. "Harry was always talking about what he was going to do when you were free. He wanted to live with you more- more than anything-" She broke off, a hand going to her mouth to hide her trembling mouth.

Sirius sighed and grabbed her by the arms, pulling her upward to sit with him. It said a lot for her potions that he was already able to do it – the thought was random, and it entered and left her mind so easily with all the other random things she'd been thinking.

They hooked arms to stabilize each other, but there were so many memories to tell, so many things they didn't know, might never remember.

"So many people asked me if I was okay," she whispered. "It got so _repetitive…_ are you okay, Hermione, are you _sure_, Hermione, is there anything I can do? Maybe they meant well. I don't know. I just… I wanted to scream at them. Of course I wasn't okay. I just had to keep getting reminded… and then- then they wrote an article on him, just Harry. I thought about writing in to tell them there were other people too…"

_Can you tell us what happened, Mr. Longbottom, what did you see when you got there?_

_And You-Know-Who was there, laughing? Please, will you relate the details, Miss Granger?_

_Shut up. **Shut up.**_

_So he fulfilled the prophecy, and killed You-Know-Who?_

_Yes. Yes, that's it, I came with Hermione just a little too late. _

_Neville, what-_

_I'm going home, Hermione. There's not much left of it, but I'm going. And no one will ever bother me again, will they? He's got his rest. Well he can have the credit too, because no one is going to be able to bug **him.**_

"You didn't, though?" he asked.

"No. I never managed to care about it enough."

A pause.

"At the risk of sounding repetitive… _are_ you okay? Now, I mean."

Her lip trembled and his hand moved to close on her other shoulder comfortingly.

"No. I'm not."

"Good. We're on the same page, then."

Hermione laughed. It was at once the most selfish, most refreshing, and most _natural_ thing she'd heard in seventeen years. God, where had he been when she needed him?

_Needed.___

**_Needed._**__

_Something I need._

"You feel empty," he muttered. "Like-"

"-you'll never be happy again. I know," she told him. "And… I haven't been."

"What was it like?" he sighed. "I missed – god, I missed two years. Can you tell me… things? Just anything you can think of."

Hermione rubbed her thumb against her forefinger and realized it had become slick with blood again. Damn it.

"Yes," she whispered in a shaky voice. "He missed you _terribly._"

Sirius' face turned cloudy, but she looked at him and began to realize something for the first time. He was _here._ He was… he was alive.

"_I _m-missed you," she told him with a sob. And threw her arms around him, holding to him as though he might disappear.

Sirius seemed surprised, but he hugged her back tightly. "I would say the same, but I wasn't gone long enough," he told her wryly.

"Y-yeah," she managed. "I know." Her arms tightened. "I couldn't _play_ with anyone else, you bastard," she told him with a sniffle. "You ruined the damn game for me."

He laughed, patting her on the back. "I feel as though I should wash your mouth out with soap. Ah well. I wasn't ever that good an adult anyway."

She brought a hand up to his face… and flicked his forehead.

"You were _n-never_ an adult."

He raised an eyebrow. "I'm insulted. I think." But he raised one hand to the back of her head and leaned down to put his forehead against hers. "It's okay. I'm alive. Take deep breaths, count to ten, and tell me something _happy._"

_One, two, three, four, five, six- oh, screw it. He's joking anyway._

She smiled shakily. "Harry made Head Boy. Ron learned to actually play Quidditch – he was lined up for a pro career before-" She broke off, but found something else. "And – one year, Harry got to use magic to get the Dursleys to come to Hogwarts. For- for their own _protection_." She giggled, remembering the day – she'd been coming down the stairs with her bag, thinking about getting herself a QuickQuotes quill (but then, she decided against it, because she didn't want to be associated with Rita Skeeter in _any_ way) and then – she'd looked up at the great hall and blinked.

Harry Potter, walking into the building, wand trailing behind him like a leash… two very round people and one toothpick floating along behind him, with the unmistakable marks of a _petrificus totalus_ visible on them.

Sirius chuckled against her. "I wish I'd been there to see that."

Hermione pressed her lips together. "I got a _picture_," she told him, holding in the laughter. "I had to hide it, though, because they said they wanted any evidence destroyed – I think Dumbledore purposely overlooked it." She moved to wipe the tears from her eyes, and he caught her hand again.

"Good lord, Hermione," he said, eyes focused on the skewed band-aid. "Is that what I think it is?"

She blushed brightly, embarrassed. "It's a habit, okay? I don't exactly leave carrot sticks lying around everywhere."

Sirius sighed and searched the darkened room. A short lightning bolt outside lit up the place in black and white, and he snatched the box of band-aids off of the table, nearly taking them both tumbling down on top of it in the process.

Hermione turned away and started to tug the old one off with a wince, but it was caught well on one side of the cut. She closed her eyes and looked away. _One…two…_

The band-aid came off all at once. Her eyes flew open. "Ouch! You-"

Sirius grinned, and he put the new one on quickly. Before she could utter another word, he bent his head and touched his lips to her palm.

"All better?" he asked.

The words she'd been about to say died on her lips.

Because he was…

He was…

Absolutely charming.

"Ah… yes?" she managed.

"Good." He gave her one last reassuring hug and then let her go.

"Somehow," he told her wistfully, "I feel almost sleepy."

Hermione smiled, and curled up in her blanket on the floor.

"I'm glad."

Because even though it wasn't better – wouldn't ever be better – and it still hurt just as much…

It was different now, somehow.


	6. Dawn

**Lost and Found**

**By Rurouni Star**

I will, of necessity, be cutting this chapter somewhat short. This is because after this the perspective will be changing to limited narrator from Sirius' point of view. Those interested who have no idea what it is, look it up. Otherwise, you can just figure it out from next chapter. =P

**Chapter 5 – Dawn**

_Harry… are you listening? I know you are. I bet you're happy up there. You're with Sirius now._

_And Ron, you… you jerk. I should've played chess with you more. You can't know…_

_But I can't do anything now. _

_People keep saying you're happier wherever you are. A few of them sent nice, teary poems. But… you know. All of those people didn't know you. They don't know you're gone. They just… sort of read it in a newspaper. So they'll give their condolences and 'feel bad for me' because I was so close to you…_

_They don't know anything._

_And I don't want to be here, listening to them 'give thanks for your sacrifice'. It **hurts.**_

****

**_Dumbledore's eyes… shut away, cool, detached as he told her he knew what she was feeling…_**

****

**_The funeral she never went to. The celebration where she cried. Their birthdays when she tried not to remember, but always ended at the graves, staring and unable to comprehend…_**__

"Hermione?"

Someone was shaking her.

"Sorry. You awake?"

She squeezed her eyes shut and opened them again. He was still there.

"Oh," she said, a kind of relief taking her. "You _weren't_ a dream."

Sirius smirked, but she knew he was still trying to sort through things. "No. Not a dream. You won't be able to get rid of me now."

Hermione smiled. "Whatever made you think I wanted to get rid of you?" She turned to the window and blinked. "Well, would you look at that? It's clearing up a bit."

The storm clouds had gone now, replaced by a few pleasant bits of fluff. The only rain was a slight shower, a remainder of the two day maelstrom that had once been.

"You know," she said, almost happy, "I think I'm actually hungry."

Sirius raised an eyebrow. "That's good – we may have had problems if only one of us was."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You mean the one of us that can't cook a decent meal."

He snorted, but didn't deny it. Rats were somewhat lacking in cooking potential.

"Well then," she said brusquely, standing up and waiting for the rush of blood to her head to clear. "What shall we have for breakfast? Anything in particular you want?"

Sirius shook his head, smiling. "Never thought I'd get asked that particular question. Really, some eggs and bacon sound wonderful just about now."

Hermione made a sound of amusement. "That's good. Because you're helping, you realize?"

Sirius blinked. "What? But I've never made-"

"I don't have house elves _here_," Hermione sniffed. "You're just going to have to learn to do without enslaving a species to your daily whims."

He rolled his eyes. "Still on about that, are you?" And regretted it as he realized she probably hadn't been for a while now. Sirius winced, waiting for the sharp retort-

"Bah. Arthur Weasley took care of that a long time ago. They've got pay if they want it now – you can guess how many of them take it." At his shocked expression, she managed to laugh. "There were a lot of changes in how magical creatures were viewed after the war. Not the least of which was changing the blasted terminology from 'creature' to 'being'." She made a face. "Honestly, what were they thinking, calling everything non-wizard a _creature-_"

"When are we starting?" Sirius interrupted her.

She stopped, her face taking on a blank expression, as though to say _starting what?_

"Breakfast," he said, answering the unspoken question.

Hermione's mouth shaped itself into an 'o'. "Right now, I suppose. It's not like there's anything else that needs to be done right this moment." She pursed her lips, however, and frowned. "Although…"

"Although?" he prompted her.

Hermione smiled sheepishly. "I never really eat breakfast. I'll have to go get some groceries, I think."

Sirius froze at these words, but she laughed at him. "Really, it's been nineteen years. No one's going to recognize you, I swear it."

The man's brow furrowed worriedly. "Well, be that as it may, it might be better if I transformed-"

"None of that," she told him with a twinkle in her eyes. "Come normal. Enjoy your freedom. Honestly, after all that time being locked up, you choose _now_ to get cautious…"

Sirius caught her eyes grimly. "You do remember what my last reckless action resulted in?"

She frowned at him, partially for being dense and partially for bringing up the subject yet again. Hermione sighed.

"Don't worry. I'll pass you off as a visitor. Mind you, I don't have many, but Prof- Remus does come down from time to time."

Sirius' face lit up instantly. "Moony? You get to see him, still? When-"

Hermione winced. "Oh good lord, can we just do one thing at a time? _Breakfast!_ Then you can have your reunion." She tried to quash the little flutter of fear that had come with his excitement. It was stupid to think it, even, but… what if he left her all alone again, if he went away with his best friend…

No. That wasn't her decision to make, in any case.

Hermione pulled her mind back to the matter at hand, eying his robes critically. "Speaking of visits… I have a set of muggle clothes I keep for him when he does come. You'd be surprised how much robes stand out in a muggle community."

Sirius grinned at her, now in very high spirits compared to his previously subdued humor. "I think _you'd_ be surprised at a few things I know about."

Hermione wrinkled her nose. "Oh, I'm sure you'll want to tell me all about the hundred and one ways to get yourself nearly expelled at some point."

The wizard sighed theatrically. "Put a bit of faith in me, please? Where do you keep the clothes?"

.

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.

The sight of Sirius in muggle clothing wasn't quite as disturbing as it ought to have been, Hermione thought wryly.

While the t-shirt was a bit oversized and the slacks seemed just a bit too 'Lupin-esque', he looked as though he almost belonged in them. A strange thought for a pure-blood.

"You _have_ done this before," she said

He shrugged in an overly casual way, but she could see him trying not to smile. "I suppose Harry never told you about how I used to stay at James' house during summers. After the point where he and Lily hooked up, I got dragged to every baseball game, every movie…" There. He'd said his name. That wasn't so hard. Except for the moment of excruciating pain that flickered across his face.

Hermione gave a rather forced chuckle as she tried to imagine him at fifteen, sitting rather sullenly to the side while the other two made lovey-dovey eyes at each other. Sirius seemed to guess what she was thinking of; his expression turned sour, but he didn't say anything more.

"I suppose we should get a move-on if we want to eat before this becomes lunch," she told him with a smile, picking up those dratted keys she'd thought she'd lost. Hermione opened the door and stepped outside into the almost pleasant chill day.

Sirius eyed her cautiously for a moment, but reluctantly followed her. She took notice of the slight trepidation that overcame him as he stepped outside. His body stiffened, while his eyes dilated ever so slightly and his fists twitched as though wanting to clench. Sirius Black, she realized, was _afraid_ of going outside as himself!

"Really," she whispered, almost awed. "Really, it's okay. Pardoned, remember?"

He tried to give her a winning smile, but failed utterly.

Her mind began to work furiously. Years in Azkaban, barely seeing light… coming out only at peril to his soul, hiding constantly from dementors, never knowing if he'd be recognized in the next instant by some poor muggle that had happened to watch the news…

It was entirely possible that he'd developed a phobia.

_Well_, she thought as her lips thinned to a line, _we're just going to have to change that._

And before he could react, she reached her hand over to him and closed her fingers over his wrist, making him stumble forward from the timid steps he had been taking (Timid? _Timid?_ Since when had Sirius Black ever been timid?). At his shocked expression, which seemed similar to something someone's face would wear if you'd jumped out in full Deatheater regalia yelling 'Boo!', she stepped past him and closed the door behind him, locking it deftly.

"And there's no going back," she told him pleasantly, slipping her arm through his and veritably dragging him from her driveway and onto the sidewalk. Sirius seemed to think otherwise – his face was screwed up in an amusing look of concentration as he debated the chances of his being able to transform and run before she could hex him into next week.

Hermione tried very hard not to laugh, and stolidly pulled him along.

The neighborhood was ridiculously small compared to London – it couldn't have possibly held more than five hundred people. And while it was certainly no middle-of-nowhere village, having very fine houses and perfectly manicured lawns, it still gave off a certain atmosphere of… country life. Non-intrusive, relaxed, and distinctly familiar.

It was something Hermione was almost certain Sirius hadn't felt before. And, for the first time in her life, she was suffused with a warm pride in _her town._

Apparently embarrassed by his prior show of nerves, Sirius cleared his throat uneasily. "We're going to the one just down the street? By the small parking lot?"

Hermione blinked, then realized that he'd been wandering before. "Oh. Yes," she confirmed. "There's not really another one, actually…"

He seemed to regain his confidence at this. "Oh. Of course." His lips turned slightly downward, though.

Well. There went that pride. Hermione bit the inside of her cheek, annoyed by his casual disdain.

_He's Black. Remember?_

Well, it couldn't be helped. Admittedly, he must have had relatively few memories other than his early years, including his whole upbringing. And really, most of his other traits were quite admirable.

She chanced a glance at him and frowned slightly.

It was the beard she couldn't stand.

Hermione silently vowed to none-too-subtly buy him a razor.

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"Ah, Hermione! It's good to see you again – we were beginning to think you'd finally gone and bricked up your door forever!"

Hermione turned to regard the cashier with a smile. "I'm not that bad, am I?"

The man chuckled. "You're just that bad, yes." The bell at the door rang, just then, and he turned to look at his other visitor, surprised.

There was a short silence. Then-

"Well!"

He beamed at her.

Hermione felt a chill go down her spine. He _wouldn't-_

"Finally, you've gone and found your common sense again! This one's much better than the other one, must say, and closer to your age-"

Hermione groaned and put her head in her hands.

Sirius only looked relieved that the man hadn't screamed at his entrance. "Hermione?" he asked her. "Who is this?"

She fixed her eyes on an imaginary heaven and mouthed 'why me?' before answering, "Prott. Owner of the corner grocery store."

The wizard turned to fix a curious gaze on the man, who had in turn stopped his excited talking to size up the other.

He wasn't anything spectacular, certainly. The man seemed to be in his fifties, at the least – his ragged brown hair was graying and even coming off in patches. But his face held multiple laugh lines that gave him a kind of mischievous air for his age (for all that he seemed to want to cultivate a dignified impression.

"Honored to meet you," Sirius said politely while Hermione anxiously watched Prott for any sign of a marriage proposal on her behalf.

"Oh, wonderful!" the man said with a smile. "He's _courteous_ too, hey?"

Hermione decided to conveniently misplace herself in one of the aisles.


	7. Holes in the Past

**Lost and Found**

**By Rurouni Star**

Like I said. Sirius. Limited narrator. You'll get the hang of it, I promise.

A note, however – I am not nearly as good at his perspective as I am with Hermione. I will try my best.

Also, yes. Sirius is still his same age as when he fell through the curtain. And yes, this does make him about Hermione's age now. Coincidence? I should think the answer is obvious.

**Chapter 6 – Holes in the Past**

Sirius watched, puzzled, as Hermione moved down one of the aisles, pretending quite blatantly not to hear Prott's voice.

When he turned back to the man, however, he was surprised to find that the store owner was very seriously looking at him now. Any and all traces of absentminded humor had disappeared.

"Well now," the man said to him. "Might I ask who you are?"

Sirius blinked.

_Who I am? Why do I have this feeling he thinks I'm a criminal…_

_Oh. Well, that would be ironic, wouldn't it?_

"My name is Sirius," he responded. "I'm one of Hermione's…" _Think. Think harder._ "…old friends."

Prott's mouth thinned to a line. "Oh, are you now?"

Why did he not like the way that man was looking at him?

Prott leaned forward toward him, and Sirius found now that there was no mistaking the look the man was giving him. Obviously, Prott did not like Sirius quite so much as he had let on.

"Let me tell you something," the other man said in a tight voice. "Apparently, you're doing that girl a lot of good. I can't deny that. But you're about fifteen years too late to be an old friend." His eyes narrowed. "An old friend would've visited, like that Lupin fellow. An old friend wouldn't show up this late, after all the things she's been through-"

Prott broke off for the moment. Sirius swallowed.

Well.

At least he knew she'd been taken care of.

"Actually," he said, feeling as though he were a student again, being chastised by a teacher, "I really didn't know about… about any of this. Not until about two days ago."

Prott seemed genuinely taken aback by this response.

"Where've you _been,_ Bulgaria?" he demanded. "If you're as close to her as all that-" the shopkeeper broke off in amazement as he saw the utterly stunned look on Sirius' face.

_Hiding out in __Bulgaria__ for two months.__ How the hell did he come up with that one?_

"You've been in Bulgaria," the man said in amazement, running a hand through his thinning hair. "Well. Hope it was important."

Sirius frowned. "Believe me, I didn't want to be there any more than anyone else wanted me to."

"Well then. _Well._" Prott took a deep breath to steady himself. "Sounds like I owe you an apology then. You've got to understand, when she came here, she was a right mess. Half the time, she stared off into space and the other half she'd burst into tears. Wasn't really sure what to make of her for a while, but she's finally started getting a bit better…"

Sirius let out his breath without realizing he'd been keeping it in. "You were afraid I'd up and leave again," he said in understanding.

"Well… not to put it in so many words…" Prott rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, I suppose that _is_ rather what I was thinking."

The wizard shook his head, pressing two fingers to his temple. "Hermione certainly seems to have changed since I last saw her, that's for sure," he murmured. "Can't quite believe everything myself…"

Prott was looking much more sympathetic now. "Well, understandable, of course," he said, switching his attitude around quite suddenly. "Incidentally, you two were… childhood friends? Neighbors?"

It took a moment for this to pierce his brain. "Neighbors?" he asked blankly.

"Ah," Prott said. "I suppose not. But you must've known her when she was small, yes?"

Sirius tried not to laugh at the images _that_ conjured. "Yes, of course. I knew her from school." _Didn't go there at the same time, but school brought us together, I suppose…_

He turned back to look at Prott and was surprised to note that the man was back to the way he'd seen him on entering. Jovial, old, and _scheming._

_Oh lord. That's just what I need. What on earth is he up to, anyway?_

Hermione appeared, then, with a few choice items. Among them, he noticed a razor.

_Subtle, Hermione, subtle. But the beard is **staying.**_

He scratched at it absently. Really, he didn't even keep it that long…

"Let's see," she was muttering. "Eggs, bacon strips, cooking oil… I got you some apple juice, I seem to remember you liking that…" Sirius winced. Sometimes she shamed him, really. That was supposed to be a well-kept secret, damn it. "Anything else?" she asked.

He blinked as he realized she was actually asking for input. "Oh. No, I think that's… that's fine." _Why on earth would I protest when she's the one paying?_ Actually, he felt a bit guilty about that, despite the fact that there was no way on earth for him to have procured any money at this point.

Hermione paid for the food and stretched her arms above her head, sighing loudly. "Well. I have to admit, it's been rather a long week or two, Prott," she admitted. "A lot of surprises, especially."

The man behind the counter nodded understandingly. "Yes, well, you take care of yourself. All alone in that house… it's not safe to live alone, you know, not _healthy_ for a woman your age-"

"Prott!" Hermione said, irritated.

"-and what if some mass murderer gets it into his head one night to break in-"

Sirius tried to restrain himself from bursting out laughing.

"-or if you fall and break your back or something-"

"Now that's just insulting!" Hermione protested heatedly.

"-or if you try to be stupid again and no one finds you this time-" Prott broke off abruptly at her face. The expression was at once both murderous and betrayed.

Hermione picked up her bags, put down the money, and walked out.

Sirius stood quite still, very confused by this point.

"Ah… what was all that about?" he asked quietly.

Prott swallowed. "I think I went just a bit too far. Don't you pay it any mind. She'll tell you if she feels like it."

Sirius followed Hermione out after a slight hesitation, feeling, more than ever, that he didn't know enough about the woman he had found himself staying with.

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Sirius had intended to ask just what Prott had meant by his statement, but as soon as he was through the door, Hermione conscripted him into making breakfast.

Learning to make scrambled eggs was surprisingly educating. Not because of the process itself, but because of the adept way Hermione parried his intrusions into her past.

"So you moved here a few years after-"

"Could you put that pan on the stove, Sirius?"

And later, "How did you meet Prott, anyway-"

"I'm sorry, Sirius, do you think you might hand me that beater?"

By the end of the ordeal, he was quite unhappy with the questioning. But he knew that when they sat down to eat, he would be able to get more out of her.

Eventually, that time did come.

Hermione didn't have a kitchen table – she usually used her living room to eat, as she ate almost exclusively alone. Sirius was reminded painfully of a point in time where Ron told her she was going to end up an old maid, living with her pug-faced cat.

_Cat. Crookshanks. Where…_

"Hermione?" he asked her quietly, cautiously, hoping he wasn't going to tread on shaky ground with this question. "Where is Crookshanks?"

Thankfully, she didn't stiffen or change the subject. "Crookshanks is living with Lupin- oh for – _Remus_ these days. You know, he always insists I call him that, but even after all these years, it comes out wrong. In any case, it's someone to talk to when he's… you know. Moony."

Sirius grinned at this. He remembered talking, in his primitive way, with the so-named cat. It was much more intelligent than any of the teens had realized at the time. If more detailed conversation were possible, he was certain the thing would have talked philosophy with him…

He took a bite from their eggs (it had, Hermione insisted, been a joint effort) and tried to think of safe things to ask about.

"Has there been anything of note in the past few years?" he inquired. "Just… anything interesting, I suppose."

Hermione flushed. "Not in particular, no."

Well.

That was a rather disappointing line of questioning.

His face must have shown his frustration – because she took it the exact wrong way.

"Look, I can't help it if I live in an uninteresting muggle-filled town- well, I suppose I _could_, but with things the way they were, would _you_ want to live in the middle of all that awful gossip…" She broke off with a sigh and a hand to her forehead.

Sirius wondered where she'd gotten that idea from. Well, not that he hadn't initially been unpleasantly surprised by the place's size, but it hadn't been something he was worrying about at the moment.

"I'm not – that is to say – that wasn't what it was," he said rather lamely.

Hermione crossed her arms, and he could tell she was ready to be stubborn. "And what was _it?_" she asked with a frown.

Sirius hissed out his breath all at once. Really, this was going a bit far. "I can't get anything _out of you!_" he told her, throwing his hands up into the air. "You won't tell me a thing about how you got here, nothing about what's happened since then, and lord knows we can't touch anything beforehand-"

Hermione's face turned brighter red and she stood up angrily. "Oh _really?_ Well why don't _I_ ask a question then, Sirius Black – how was Azkaban, how did the Dementors treat you, did anything _interesting_ happen while you were there, did you have any particularly _fond_ memories of being locked up in prison for twelve years or am I _prying!_"

He gaped at her.

_Azkaban. Cold and dark and broken and so **insane** he could barely breathe they were all around-_

Hermione's face went white. She put a hand over her mouth in horror.

"I'm sorry!" she gasped. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"No, you did," he muttered. "Perhaps I was being too intrusive." _Closed in, boxed in, bars and chains and the food wasn't tasteless, it was **you**…_

"Intrusive or not… that… that was awful of me!" she told him, still pale. "It's… it's not your fault you want to know what's been going on…"

Sirius looked up at her, though, and shook his head. And then, he spoke.

"Azkaban was horrifying. It was your nightmares personified and given explicit permission by the Ministry to dissect every awful experience you've ever had in front of your eyes."

Hermione stared at him, disbelieving. Certainly, she hadn't been expecting him to take her seriously…

"Imagine your meeting with one dementor," he continued tiredly. "Multiply that experience at least tenfold, then try to imagine twelve years of incessantly being surrounded by them. And not being able to die." He looked up at her, and knew his eyes were showing the darkness that others would whisper about when he left the room. "Wishing they really would make you soulless, because then it would _stop._"

_Blurred and melted together into one continuous stretch of misery, broken only by the intrusions of guards to make sure he was still alive, when the dementors would disappear for just one hour so the 'innocent' wizards that worked for Azkaban could stay untouched by their powers and make certain he was affected by them still…_

Hermione was frozen in disbelief and fright, and he felt guilt seize him abruptly. There had been a reason he had promised himself never to tell any of them about Azkaban – and this was it. No one should know about such a place, they shouldn't even have to _imagine_ it.

And then, in a tremulous voice, she asked him, "You… you got back your happy memories, though, at the end… didn't you?"

Sirius tried to smile, but turned into a pained expression. "Of course. Of course I got them back. They would have had to kiss me to make them leave me permanently…" And now, he was remembering his frustration and the torturing thought that _he was innocent._ The thought that hurt so much, they let him keep it. "Sometimes, I wondered if I wanted them back," he whispered, unable to stop now. "Because having them means you'll only lose them again. I wondered if I'd never had any if they could've hurt so much…"

The eggs had gone cold.

Hermione's jaw trembled, but she stood her ground.

And then, her voice carried over to him, and he realized that he had broken through.

"I came here fourteen years ago, if you don't count Christmas next week," she said quietly. "I… I don't remember much of it. I do remember that I wasn't quite sane. And that it hurt."

Sirius looked up at her intently, recognizing for the first time a bit of the dementors in her manner. A little shard of Azkaban.

"I came here… here in particular… because it had been my father's home town." She bit her lip and sat down heavily. "I'd wanted to be close to them, even though they were… were gone…"

Sirius' eyes narrowed as he recalled their earlier conversation.

_"He resigned. Because everyone knew that he'd screwed up when the first dark mark hit the sky…"_

_"Who was it?"_

_"Oh. It- It's not important."_

"I managed to get myself set up with some money I'd put into good investments," she said. "And later, I even managed to start going to the store on my own and all. But it wasn't ever _complete_, if you know what I mean. It was… it was going through the motions but not getting anywhere…"

_Eating but not tasting. Breathing but not living._

"Yes," he said. "I know something of that."

Hermione gave him a frightened glance for a moment, but continued dutifully. "Well… well Prott really helped me out for a long time. He helped me get things in order and he'd even sneak me some strawberries every once in a while because he knew I liked them."

Ah. Good. He was glad he hadn't gotten on bad terms with that one.

"Well, it- it ended up-" Hermione's voice faltered. "I mean, there was no reason to believe anything would happen, since it'd been at least a year since the- the incident." A thrill of foreboding went through Sirius, and he had a very unhappy feeling that he knew what she was about to say – or at least some of it. "Well, I was home alone, like always, but apparently some of the old Deatheaters had gotten wind of where I lived…"

Sirius' hand tightened into a fist. If he had only been here-

"It was a close call," she whispered. "I- I don't know if you know, but if you're hit with enough Cruciatus curses – all in a row, I mean – your heart can stop from the strain-"

Sirius felt a sick feeling take him. How many had she had to go through just to find out that bit of knowledge – there were no wizards in history that mentioned such a thing-

"They thought I was dead, naturally, so they left-" She stopped in the middle of her sentence to stare at him, her face taking on a peculiar cast. "Sirius, are you – are you okay?"

He swallowed. _Tell me they're dead, Hermione, tell me they're dead for that-_ "Yes. I'm fine. Go on."

She did, but only with effort. "Prott and Lupin-"

"Remus," Sirius corrected her dully.

"-yes, Remus, they found me like that because he'd gotten wind of it just a little too late… well, Remus thought I was dead too, I'm told he was crying and everything. If Prott hadn't been there, if he hadn't known how to restart a heart- there's a muggle way, too, you know- I really would be dead."

Oh yes.

_Definitely_ glad he hadn't gotten off on the wrong foot with Prott.

"He had to break my ribs to do it, and that smarted for a long time, but I made it all the same. I only found out later that-"

Hermione stopped abruptly, licking her lips.

Sirius wondered what on earth could be worse than what she'd already told him.

"Well… well Lupin-"

"Remus," he told her again.

"-Remus, he was understandably upset, and- and the full moon was just a day or two away- he wasn't thinking, mind you-"

Sirius knew what she was going to say. He thought it was only natural and very justified.

"He went after them as a werewolf," he finished for her.

Hermione blanched. "Yes. Yes, he did. But Sirius, he'd _had his potion._ Something like that… it I can't imagine…"

_What? Imagine someone caring about you enough to be that angry? You should know better than that. Much better._

"I would've done precisely the same thing," he told her, quite fiercely. No, if he'd been there, they would never have gotten so much mercy from him as being torn apart instantly- "Good lord, Hermione… but what did Prott think of all this?" He'd forgotten Prott, nearly. He knew there was something important about that.

The woman sighed, taken temporarily off subject. "Prott… well, we couldn't exactly tell him I'd been cursed to death-"

Sirius really had to try not to clench the arm of the chair quite so hard.

"-so… it was a viable explanation…"

"Yes?" he asked quietly.

"Remus told him, with my permission, that I'd… um… tried to commit suicide. With poison or some such thing. I can't- can't remember at the moment."

Sirius let out his breath at once.

It hit him then, not fully, but almost – Hermione had to have been only a few years older than he remembered her when this happened. There. It was a starting point, albeit a gruesome one.

"You know," Hermione said nervously, looking away from him as though ashamed. "You know, breakfast is probably going to have to be warmed up again as it is. I'll do that, I think."

She picked up the plates then, and hurried into the kitchen, leaving him to mull over the new things he'd discovered…

And the things he still didn't understand.


	8. Rail Ride

**Lost and Found**

**By Rurouni Star**

**Chapter 7 – Rail Ride**

Breakfast was a rather quiet affair after the initial outburst. Hermione still seemed unhappy with his discoveries about her – for some reason, the last incident had turned her inexplicably jumpy around him, her face showing strain every time he looked at her. He couldn't, in his darkest wonderings, imagine _why._

After they'd eaten, Hermione moved to put the dishes in the sink. Sirius snorted and reached out to snag her wand from her as she passed. With a muttered incantation, they flew out of her hands, immaculately clean, and replaced themselves in the cupboards. Hermione let out a surprised little squeak, but otherwise took it rather well.

As she moved to sit back down, she snatched her wand back defensively, giving him an annoyed look.

"What?" he asked. "It's not like it hurts anything."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "It would do you good to have to do a bit of honest work, I think. Magic isn't a cure-all, you know."

"No," he responded with a grin, "But why do dishes when you don't have to?"

The witch threw her arms up into the air frustratedly, but said no more.

Sirius leaned back into the chair, staring up at the ceiling. "So," he said quietly, "What do you do around here? It seems sort of strange, not saving the world or fixing a grievous problem or even just playing pranks on people…"

Hermione laughed. "I understand. I haven't been using my life so well for a good many years… but then again, I'm not entirely sure what I would do in the ministry. I'd feel… lost."

Sirius felt something inside him wonder at this: _Don't you already feel lost?_ But he didn't say it aloud.

"I read books," she murmured. "I go on walks, I visit a few people from time to time. You're right. Boring."

He winced. Hermione seemed absolutely determined to take everything the wrong way today. Even if he had sort of been thinking that way.

"Well," he told her pleasantly, trying to hide a smile, "No time like the present to shake things up."

Hermione blinked.

"What?" she asked intelligently.

Sirius felt the smile winning. "Did you ever get your apparation license?" At her stunned but undeniable nod, he stood and grabbed her arm. "How does Hogwarts sound?"

Hermione's face immediately turned sour. "Now look, you, if I've told you once, I've told you a hundred times, you _can't-_"

"-apparate onto Hogwarts grounds," he finished slyly. "Yes. Just checking." _Good. Still the same old Hermione, somewhere in there._ "Actually, I was thinking Diagon Alley, if you're up to it."

Her face was priceless. "Wha- _Diagon Alley?_ But why?"

Sirius laughed. "Why, to get some money out of my vault, of course. Can you imagine the interest that's collected?"

Hermione seemed too shocked to respond. That was fine. As long as she had her license, he could go ahead and take her with him.

The only slightly fuzzy picture of Gringotts Bank came into his head, the unchanging and eternally ugly building that rested in the middle of London proper. Sirius moved to take her arm in his, trying to keep it clear enough to use. Hermione's mouth opened then, perhaps to ask if he was mad-

But the next moment, the house-that-wasn't-quite-in-the-middle-of-nowhere was perfectly empty.

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Sirius blinked furiously, trying to remember just what he had been doing. Disorientation had not only gripped him, but spun him around a few times and hit him over the head for good measure.

"Honestly, you- you _idiot!_ Don't you realize we could've been _splinched!_ God, that would be a headline for the Daily Prophet, wouldn't it?"

Hermione stopped then, apparently realizing that he was still trying to get hold of himself.

"Um." Her eyes widened, and she leaned closer to look at him. "Sirius? Are you okay?"

He groaned. "I seem to remember the process being somewhat less… this."

The woman beside him pursed her lips. "Well _yes_, normally it is. But how long has it been since you've apparated?"

Ah.

_Ah._

"Fourteen years. Not counting-"

"Yes, of course," Hermione finished for him. "But… never again. Ever. I could cite whole books on the subject of apparation going wrong-"

"I'm sure you could," Sirius muttered beneath his breath, stifling a snicker.

"-and it was _extremely_ irresponsible of you to try that without fully getting my permission first, because that can foul everything up if you don't have someone who knows what they're doing-"

"Sir," said a small and unpleasant voice from below. Sirius looked down to see one of the attendants of Gringotts staring up at him nastily. "If you have no business at the bank, it would be highly advised that you leave, and not give anyone the idea that you are…" The goblin's lips parted in a needle-toothed smirk, "_loitering._"

Hermione moaned.

"Actually, yes, I _do_ have some business with the bank," her companion said almost gleefully. "Although I'm afraid I'll have to go through the process of getting another key…"

It wasn't his imagination. The thing's frown deepened quite a bit at those words.

"Is it too much to hope that you still remember your password?" the goblin asked unhappily.

Sirius waved his hand. "Of course I do. It's-"

"At the _counter,_ please," the creature interrupted sourly.

Hermione let her head fall against Sirius' back with a thud. "Are you trying to be difficult or is it just how you normally are?" she muttered.

Sirius blinked. "What? It's been a few years."

She decided to be quiet – assumedly so she wouldn't encourage him.

"Name?" a voice called from up high a moment later. Sirius looked up, feeling something strange (fear?) grip his insides. He tried to stay calm and hoped Hermione hadn't failed to mention anything important about his pardon. Like, the part where a swarm of dementors was waiting to swoop down on him, as soon as he said his name…

"Sirius Black," he said.

If he was expecting something very large, however… he was disappointed.

"Password?"

He tried not to look too relieved. "Padfoot."

There was a slight ringing noise, just for an instant, and then a key was being slid across the desk – still sparkling as though newly made. "There will, of course, be a deduction of two sickles from your account for the replacement of your key," the goblin noted. "Are you interested in opening your vault today or will we be seeing you at some other…" his eyes narrowed, annoyed, "more _convenient_ time?"

Sirius rolled his eyes. "Today, please."

The goblin growled something unpleasant beneath his breath, then leapt down from his stool, moving around the desk to walk purposefully toward a door that lead farther into the bank. After a moment, Sirius realized he expected him to follow, and did so. Hermione looked up in turn, and then rushed to catch up herself.

Their guide pulled open a part of the railing that had, at one point, looked exactly like the rest of it. Beyond it, they could see a railcar, waiting. It looked… unstable, to say the least. To say the most, one would have to mention the rust on the tracks, the squeaky handle of the car, the wheel that looked as though it might be falling off…

"Well," the goblin said with a frown. "Get in, why don't you?"

Sirius shrugged and moved toward it blithely, reaching out to snatch Hermione's arm in an iron grip along the way. She was looking ready to flee.

Hermione gave him a dirty look, but sat down in the car. He moved next to her as the goblin hopped in as well, sitting in the opposite seat where the switch and brake were located. The witch beside Sirius looked ready to make an alarmed comment on the very uneven weight distribution, but she didn't really have a chance to say anything at all- the brake had been released.

There was a loud groan, as though the cart were protesting being put to use yet again. And just as Sirius began doubting his impulsiveness, Hermione grasped for his arm blindly, wrapping herself around it with wide eyes and clenched teeth. Because, now that he looked, there was this giant drop off right in front of them…

There was a creaking noise, and a dip in the cart. It was getting ready to go over the edge. Hermione gave a whimper and pushed herself farther back into the seat and into him, as though it might tip back up again if she leaned far enough. It wasn't that bad, surely…

The goblin grinned nastily. "Going down."

Sirius swallowed.

And the cart went flying over the edge.

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"Here, Mister Black. Do you, perchance, have your key – or did you lose it?"

Sirius moved one hand back to smooth his hair down again. Hermione was very fervently murmuring into his shirt a mantra she'd perfected over the ride ("Never again, never again, _never_ again…"). He tried to pry her off, but it she was still holding very tightly. After a few prods, she released her death grip just a little and brought her face up to glare at him (after making sure they were on a flat track, of course).

"I am _never_ trusting you again. Next time, you're getting petrified and dragged out before you can get us killed. Now I know why Lupin kept saying you were a menace…"

"Remus," he corrected her, realizing he'd found his insolent grin again.

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. Then pulled her wand, pointing it at his chest.

"Jump," she growled. "Get out. Or I'll use this thing on you like I should've before."

Sirius chuckled. "You're the one that's still holding on," he informed her.

The woman blinked – then dropped his shirt from her hand and shook her head. "You're _trying_ to get killed, I know it… just get what you need and let's go."

He shook his head. "Just come on in. I'll only be grabbing some money very quickly."

Hermione sighed and stood up uncertainly – the cart swayed just a little, and the goblin raised his eyebrows at her, as though to infer that she might fall if she didn't move. The woman leapt nimbly from the cart, though, and onto solid ground. She looked as though she might kiss it.

Sirius followed her, swinging his legs up and over the side and watching with an open mouth as it very nearly came off the track.

"Key?" the goblin repeated irritably.

He produced it, trying to mentally steel himself again and regain his swagger. This just wasn't natural.

The goblin snatched the key from his hand and pushed it into the lock, running his finger over the top of it while he did so. There was a grinding noise, then the door opened and the key was flicked carelessly back to Sirius (who barely managed to catch it and keep it from going over the edge and into darkness).

"Go on in," their guide growled. "And try not to take all day."

Sirius opened his mouth to tell him just what he thought of this idea – but Hermione grabbed him and moved him inside first, hand going over his mouth.

Once they were safely inside the vault, Hermione moaned. "Were you always like this or was I just not paying enough attention?"

He shrugged, her hand still over his mouth. This was how he dealt with…things. Crying didn't work, and was rather embarrassing – but snapping at people certainly made him feel better, in some ways. She was taking it much too seriously. Gringotts goblins were just as bound by the laws as everyone else (which included not murdering people when they felt like it).

"_Please_ try to be more polite," she begged him, pulling her hand from his mouth. "Just… for my peace of mind!"

"We'll see," he muttered, eyes scanning the money and valuables inside the room. He heard rather than saw Hermione's first reaction – a gasp of surprise, and a hand going to cover her mouth. The Black family had been wealthy, for all that his mother had tried her hardest to keep him from inheriting any of it. But he'd try to keep her clear of the back of the vault – it was supposed to hold the items of dark magic the family had also been keeping. Seeing as none were alive but himself, he'd have to clean it out someday.

When he wasn't in jail, on the run, or trying to re-establish himself after nineteen years of 'being dead'.

Sirius frowned as he realized he didn't have any pouches on him.

"Hermione, may I borrow your wand for a bit?" he asked her, in keeping with his semi-promise to be polite.

She handed it to him with a blink, her other hand still over her mouth. If it was one thing he found comfort in, though, it was that she was one of the few people living he would trust with such a sight. The others being Dumbledore, Moony, and- well, scratch that, he thought with a lump in his throat.

He quickly picked up one of the uglier robes that had been thrown in a corner and transfigured a sleeve of it into a bag. Certainly, this would work for now.

Sirius worked as quickly as he could, pushing in what he thought he would need and adding just a little bit onto the top (she'd mentioned Christmas was soon, yes? He'd have to do something). It was only when he looked around that he realized he couldn't see her anymore.

Panicking, he darted his gaze around the vault. Where could she have _gone_, it wasn't as though there were many places to _hide-_

"What on earth is this?" he heard her murmuring from across the room. _Shit._ The back.

"Hermione, get away from there," he said sharply.

She couldn't hear him, though – he saw a flash of white somewhere back there, and immediately started toward it. The witch was reaching a hand forward to clasp something, eyes filmed over, mesmerized…

His eyes widened as he recognized it. Sirius moved quickly, running, slipping on coins, the bag dropping from his hand as her fingers moved to brush the surface of the mirror…

His hand grasped her wrist tightly, pulling it away just in time.

She blinked.

And he paused, barely balanced, in front of her.

"That," he ground out, "Would be a bad idea. Although it's really not anyone's fault but my own."

Hermione looked down at him and tensed. "What just happened?" she asked tightly.

Sirius swallowed, moving to stand up straight, and gestured with her wand. The robe without a sleeve moved to drape itself over the thing, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

"That would be a soul-trapping mirror. _Very _nasty little thing." At her widened eyes, he moved his hand to her shoulder to steady her. "Not permanent, no, but very hard to reverse. It would've been… troublesome."

Hermione glared at him. "Yes, I know what it is. Why on earth didn't you warn me your family kept such awful things in here?"

Sirius winced. "I was hoping to be in and out. Anyway, I wasn't sure what we had in here, precisely."

A pot in the back began to wriggle, and he decided it was high time to leave. That particular boggart had not liked him much at all – and the seal was just a little bit on the old side. "Why don't we go on up again?" he asked her brightly, using his hand on her shoulder to steer her back toward the entrance. "I'd say there's been more than enough adventure for one day."

Hermione gave him a sour look. "I'm apparating back myself this time. And if you get stuck, I'm not going to come looking."

He shrugged. "Fair enough."

And pushed her back over the rim of the cart, making it wobble unsteadily. Hermione yelped in surprise, pulling herself back up and warily looking over the sides as though it might still tip her. "I thought we'd talked about this polite thing!" she told him crossly, though the goose bumps on her skin rather took away from the effect. Sirius hopped in beside her easily, ignoring her gasped breath of fear.

"Going up…" the goblin said in a darkly amused hiss.

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It had been a long, long time. He had to admit that.

Before, there had always been that slight bit of uncertainty, the little shred of wild hope inside that said, _You__ could just be dreaming._ But now, looking at the outside of Diagon Alley, he was certain.

There was no going back.

It seemed brighter, busier, and more unfamiliar than ever he had known it. Had he not been completely certain of their location, he would have had to stop a passing wizard where they were. Because Diagon Alley had never had these shops, and something about it felt _wrong._

Hermione seemed almost as taken aback by the changes time had wrought, even if she had been expecting _something._ Sirius thought numbly to himself that she was probably just as much a stranger here as he. It comforted him, just a little.

The worn down, creaky stone pathway was still there, surrounded by buildings. Except, there was no _Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions_. Neither was _Flourish and Blott's_ in business, though it had been replaced by a rather conspicuous shop, with a triple 'W' as its title. Just as he was about to go investigate, however, Hermione gasped, hooked her arm through his and darted toward a different shop altogether. Sirius opened his mouth to say something unhappy about this, but was stopped abruptly by his a tinkling bell and his entrance into the small, musty shop.

It commanded silence and reverence. Nothing less would do.

Sirius let his arm drop from hers and tried to remember the last time he'd been in there, staring around in wonder at the shelves of wands, all neatly boxed and seemingly _waiting_…

_"You say muggle-born wizards get their wands here too?"_

_"Oh, some of them, Mr. Black. I wouldn't be arrogant enough to assume all of their business for myself."_

_A smile.___

_"I think I have the wand for you, as well…"_

"Sirius!"

The whisper snapped him from his memory, and he turned to look back toward the desk.

An old man sat serenely behind it, on a well-used stool, with a calm but powerful gleam in his silvered eyes.

"Ah. I was expecting you, Mr. Black."


	9. The Wand

**Lost and Found**

**By Rurouni Star**

**Chapter 8 – The Wand**

"Ollivander," Hermione breathed, just surprised and changed enough not to add her customary 'mr' or 'sir'.

Sirius stared at him.

Exactly the same.

_Exactly_ the same.

How was that _possible?_

"Let's not linger on trivialities, hmm?" Mr. Ollivander said pleasantly, as though he could read Sirius' thoughts. "You came for a wand." Hermione opened her mouth to respond, but the older man held up his hand. "He doesn't know it yet, but he has. Unfortunately, I cannot help you."

Sirius worked through this in his head before realizing he did, indeed, wish for a wand. He couldn't live in the wizarding world without one. The rest of the old man's words impacted him then. "What do you mean, you can't help me?" he asked incredulously, gesturing at the wands around them.

Mr. Ollivander smiled.

"I cannot help you on the grounds that you were already given a very unique and very beautifully made wand. Ebony and powdered unicorn horn, nineteen inches, inlaid with silver, if I remember correctly." At Sirius' sudden baleful stare, his smile did not waver. "Special request from your family."

Hermione raised an eyebrow at the core of the wand, but she had a feeling she'd rather not know where Sirius' family had come across the horn of a unicorn. Thinking on some of the things he'd said about them, he probably didn't want to know either.

"That wand is long gone," Sirius said with a frustrated sound. "Even if I knew where to get it from, it's probably still behind so much red tape _you_ couldn't touch it."

Hermione, watching Mr. Ollivander's expression, seemed to have doubts about the truth of this statement, but she didn't say them aloud if she did.

"Um. About that," she murmured. Mr. Ollivander heard her, though she hadn't spoken very loudly at all, and turned to look at her.

"Yes?" he asked quietly, amusement in his eyes. Hermione frowned, then moved to take him aside, talking about something… secret.

This bothered Sirius in ways he hadn't known he could be bothered. What was it with this girl and _secrets?_

He crossed his arms irritatedly and glared at the two, waiting for the conversation to end. Eventually, Hermione nodded, looking thoughtful, then turned to Sirius.

"Well," she said. "There's no point staying here, then."

His mouth dropped open.

"W-wait!" he said disbelievingly. "After all of that, nothing?"

Hermione rolled her eyes and sighed. "Look, he's not going to give you another wand. I promise I'll do what I can to get hold of one for you, though, I promise." At his sudden surprised look, she smiled. "There _are_ other people that sell wands, you know. If worse comes to worst… well, I can call on some of those war hero connections."

Something about this statement froze him, reaching deep into him and squeezing his heart. Maybe it was the fact that she'd stated quite clearly she didn't want anything to do with those connections. Maybe it was just the fact that someone had offered to help him for no reason other than he needed it. Or maybe it was just the fact that he was suddenly forced to realize she was old enough to do something like that.

"Thank you," he said in a dazed voice.

Hermione looked down from his gaze involuntarily. "Yes… well. You don't expect me to throw you out without a wand, do you?"

At these words, he noticed that Ollivander's eyes flashed in an amused way. But Hermione coughed then, and his attention was distracted. When he turned back, the old man was gone.

"I would think that's our cue to leave," Sirius muttered, trying to ignore the angry knot in his throat. He pushed away the strange gratitude that had risen in him and moved for the door. Hermione watched him beneath a curtain of her hair before following. The bell rang softly as they left.

The two stood silently for a moment, as though trying to figure out where to go next. In more ways than one.

"Well," she said. "Unless you have a need for a broom or a new pet-" Sirius snorted. "-I think it would be safe to say we're apparating back home?"

"Yes," he replied. "And, as I'm apparently not a very safe ride, you're free to try yourself-" _Pop._ Hermione was gone.

"All right, then," Sirius muttered, only somewhat offended. After looking about for a moment, he too disappeared.

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This time was much better. Less nausea, at the least. And look, his vision was only slightly blurred this time around.

Funny.

Where was Hermione?

Shit. He wasn't in the wrong house, was he?

Sirius looked about him for clues that he had just broken and entered. Well… didn't seem too likely on second thought. His eyes fell on the same exact sofa he'd slept on the night before, the dark green pillows in precisely the same places they'd left them, a cozy quilt in a mess at the edge of a cushion. A window seat, in the kitchen, looking out over the same town.

He bit the inside of his cheek in frustration. Hermione had said she was apparating home. Why, then, was she not at home?

_BANG._

Something hit him in the back forcefully. Sirius swore, turning to land on the couch, and something soft brushed his cheek. He opened his eyes a moment later – and swallowed.

Mousy hair hung messily about her face as though she'd gone and ridden a motorcycle. But her face was much too pale - almost bloodless - and her skin, where it touched him, was icy cold.

Dead. She couldn't be dead. Because he'd never heard of someone dying from apparation, and it was too _unfair_ to do this to him and to her-

Hermione shuddered against him and groaned unhappily, immediately dispelling the thought. Sirius grabbed her by the shoulders immediately, letting out his breath in relief. She opened her eyes blearily – and immediately squeezed them shut again.

"Head hurts like hell," she muttered.

His hands tightened on her. "And how long," he said, grimly but not without humor, "has it been since _you_ last apparated?"

Hermione let her forehead fall against his chest, but didn't answer. Maybe she was attempting to do the math. Sirius rubbed at his back unhappily. That was going to _smart._

"Seventeen years," she said unhappily. "A little less, maybe."

He opened his mouth to tell her something snide, to point out her stubborn stupidity… but closed it again as he realized she knew it all too well by now. Instead, he scanned her for her wand, then snatched it from her pocket. She managed to let out an indignant sound, despite her condition – then realized he was trying to remember some charm or other for magical snapback.

"Bother," he sighed. "Can't think of it. Too long ago."

A shaky Hermione disentangled herself from his grip and rubbed at her arms. "I need some chocolate," she muttered.

"Oh?" he asked. "Does that work for this too?" He seemed to remember eating chocolate after encounters with Dementors.

"No," she said, perhaps with an added bit of irritation. "I just like chocolate." With that, she stumbled into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator door, shoving things about and looking for something. Sirius frowned and spun the wand in his hand, trying to focus his mind onto what he could think of in the way of fixing headaches. Unfortunately, the only thing that came to mind while the wand was in his hand was a mental complaint that it wasn't _his._

_Why is it every person from here to the coast seems to think they know what's best for me?_

He remembered Dumbledore refusing to let him out of that damn house. It was only just beginning to dawn on him that he could move about freely now…

_"You know you can't go out."_

_"Play me again."_

_Compassion.__ Caring enough to actually sit with him for hours on end, doing nothing at all, when everyone else left him alone to brood. Not quite understanding his need to **do** instead of sit, but trying, and that counted more._

_"I was just… scared." _

_An expression of undiluted terror and shock, and the slightest hints of a deep-running shame, a shame that contradicted itself, that was so completely irrational as to be laughable, had he not wanted to make it better…_

_"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I **failed**…"_

Hermione. He hadn't had enough time to think on her. Not nearly enough. It was so hard to reconcile the two different people. One was a girl – easily described, easily understood, because she was loyal and caring and studious. And, he thought almost absently, her hair was curlier.

But this one.

Tired. Haunted. Tortured, sometimes, but it was expected when one was presented with a ghost.

And, but this was the most disturbing thing of all, she had _grown up_.

In the blink of an eye, Hermione the shy girl who liked to play chess had changed into the woman that stared out of windows and cried when she thought no one was looking. How was it possible? How could he rationalize it? He knew that parts of the girl were still in there – she was still loyal and kind as ever. Her hair was still messy, just not in the usual way – it was mousy, now, and hung into her eyes limply, still retaining a slight twist at the ends.

He had to admit to himself that while he missed the old Hermione dearly – happiness was a prized possession – he could also understand the new one in ways he could never have imagined before.

Sirius frowned and gave himself a mental slap on the hand. He wasn't supposed to be happy that she had learned to grieve, and learned it badly. It was… unbearably selfish.

But the fact remained that there was no going back – and the new Hermione was now sitting beside him, pulling pieces off of a chocolate bar.

She looked up at him with a blink, feeling his stare on her.

"Do you want a piece?" she asked.

Sirius winced. Caught. "No, thank you," he said, eyes now stuck very stubbornly on the green and black pillow at the other end of the couch. "I wouldn't dare try to deny you your chocolate."

Hermione pursed her lips. "Oh, bravo. You almost convinced the pillow behind me." She broke off a piece anyway, and let it fall into his palm. "Have at. Just remember me next time you go to Honeydukes."

_If it still exists,_ was the unspoken addition.

Sirius weighed the chocolate in his hand, then pushed it into his mouth. It was almost comforting, for a moment – but the taste passed, and he realized he was still hurting. He wondered if he would ever stop.

He had to say something. It was too wrong to do this in silence, to pretend to normalcy…

"It's not any better, is it?" he asked.

Hermione looked at him with a suddenly pained look. He realized, though, that it had been there all along and he just hadn't noticed it because she had been smiling.

"No," she whispered. "It's not."

The strangest thought crossed his mind then. That she understood, and that he really wished she didn't.

_Good. We're on the same page, then._

Despite his earlier comment, made in full honesty at the time, as far as he'd known, he'd uncovered a new and rather uncomfortable part of himself that irrationally wished she could have been spared – even though she'd been at the center of it all.

Hermione looked away from him, to the clenched hands on her lap. The friend in him, the loyal Padfoot, the uncomfortable Sirius, wanted to make it better. But he didn't know how. And it was hard to do when he felt so lost himself.

Her hand moved to settle on top of his – it was slightly cold, and her nails pricked at his skin a bit. But it was one of the most comforting things he'd ever felt, and a sudden warm gratitude rose within him. Hermione hadn't changed in the places that counted. She still looked after everyone but herself.

Because he knew she wanted him to believe, or at least to pretend, that she wasn't crying. So he turned his hand over and slid his fingers through hers and did so.

They sat in silence for a few minutes. He thought on Harry – it was undeniable that he should've lived. And yet – and yet, he was gone. So strange that he'd talked to him days before, saved him from a premature death. He couldn't make himself believe that had been for nothing – it had felt too real. And then, the disturbing thought hit him, finally, that it _hadn't_ been just a few days ago. That it only seemed that way. One would think this was obvious, but it hadn't been to him. As though sensing his sudden discomfort, Hermione's fingers tightened.

After she had time to suitably compose herself, Hermione excused herself on the pretext of making them some kind of dinner. He was relieved that he wasn't required to help this time around (he was, apparently, a kind of anti-help – not that she would admit to this). However… his hand, which had warmed hers to a similar temperature, was now without something to grasp.

Strangely, the warm gratitude in his chest kept swelling, until it took the place of the things that had been so brutally torn away, and even strained at being so-confined. For no reason that he could pinpoint, Sirius felt that he was fixed. Just a little, just for a while, but it was enough.

There were people who still cared about him. There was someone that cared enough to try to make the burden lighter, to take even more onto her shoulders, though it might cripple her in the process. And there were good people left in the world, despite it all.

Sirius leaned back into the pillow he'd stared at and rubbed at his hand absently, not daring to explore this new contentment for fear it would pop like a bubble. What had he asked her, earlier? He'd wanted her to tell him what to do. He'd wanted some kind of goal, something to focus on because all of his earlier ones were gone. But he'd found one.

And he resolved…

He _would_ make it better.

For her.


	10. Hogsmeade

**Lost and Found  
****By Rurouni Star**

I've found the need to use POV switches more often now – sometimes, it will switch, but you shouldn't have any real trouble determining whose head you're in. Also, I won't switch POV's in the middle of a section – it will always occur after a break. Lastly, rating's gone up for language (either in this chapter or the next). Adults _do_ swear, kiddies.

**Chapter 9 – Hogsmeade**

Dinner was surprisingly delicious. Or, perhaps not, considering that anything at all tasted wonderful when you were alive and free. Hermione shot him a surprised look when he dug into it with fervor. Sitting on the couch, now, he thought she really should have known better. Didn't she remember when they ate Mrs. Weasley's home cooking…

Sirius frowned at that thought, a slight twinge going through him as he thought of what the poor woman would've had to go through. He didn't have time to contemplate this, however, before Hermione threw a pillow at him. He caught it just barely, and realized she'd been aiming for his head.

"Not very nice," he said with a mock glare.

Hermione smiled and chuckled to herself. "Get some sleep. I was thinking of going out to Hogsmeade tomorrow."

Sirius snorted. "Right. When everyone mistakes us for muggles, don't complain to me."

The woman rolled her eyes and swept some of the chestnut hair from her eyes – to no avail; it fell back into place stubbornly. "That's why we're going, you twat. I'm assuming you want something to wear other than those clothes." She gestured at the shirt and slacks he'd had to wear for about three days (with a washing in between when Hermione insisted they needed it). Apparently, his robes had been in such a sorry state from wherever he'd been that she'd thrown them away.

Sirius privately thought she had a point, but he couldn't let her leave with the last laugh. "What?" he asked, pretending indignance. "I happen to think I look like a rather dashing wizard. In a… muggle type way." Wait. There it was again. That flash of irritation. Sirius tried not to wince and grinned, making it into an obvious joke, but Hermione turned away and moved toward her bedroom. The sound of a door closing quietly made him sigh and lean back into the couch.

Hermione seemed to have a few sore spots, actually. He wasn't entirely sure what they were, really. But then, it might be best to just ask her about them later. The fewer uncomfortable, unspoken things between them, the better.

Because… well, he really did care what she thought of him, when it came down to it. Hermione was a very intelligent, mature, no-nonsense person, and if she didn't approve of you, it was hard to disregard her. Sort of like Dumbledore in that respect – except that Dumbledore was a very strange, silly, and potentially insane person.

He remembered meeting her for the first time, two years – no, twenty-one years ago. As frightened as she must have been of him (convict, murderer, dark wizard, madman), her distaste for him and Remus had struck him immediately.

_"I don't believe it!" He turned to look at the girl in surprise – he'd barely noticed her before, just as another one of the people with Harry. The girl that had kicked him, the girl that had called for Lupin's help, was now staring at him – at them both – with the utmost horror and revulsion. "You- you-"_

_Sirius stared at her as she pointed with a trembling finger at Lupin. And, quite suddenly, she became more than just a girl. She now had a voice to go with her, and a name, and a history, and (funnily enough) a brain. It was so strange, realizing for the first time since Azkaban that people existed._

And then, Harry's surprising attack on Snape – he only realized a little later that both she and Ron had echoed it. And now, the thought of it, of _them_, alive and well, still at school-

_"Er – Mr. Black – Sirius?" Someone real, someone talking to him because he was real, too… it was real, it had to be. Because otherwise, he was still in his cell…_

Sirius put his head into his hands as the contrast rose in his head, unbidden. The intelligent girl, the one that suspected him and barely knew him, then listened to him- and then, the girl that played chess with him, that nibbled on carrot sticks- the girl that trembled in a corner, not because she was afraid, but because she was ashamed, and now…

_"…but if you're hit with enough Cruciatus curses – all in a row, I mean – your heart can stop from the strain-"_

His hands tensed, and he realized he was close to crying, as strange and awful as it was.

_"I **believed** them. When they said they wouldn't die."_

Dead. Ron and Harry were dead.

And he hadn't been there for them. Not when it counted, not when he wanted to, he'd missed – he'd missed everything he'd ever cared to live for, and he couldn't do a _thing!_

He trembled, grasping at the place where his heart would be, wishing it could somehow fill up again like it had. Because the more he thought of how gone they were, the emptier it became. And the emptier it became, the worse the pressure just behind his eyelids, the biting warmth he refused to let free.

But… there was no one here to see. So it didn't really matter, did it?

Sirius Black cried, silently and bitterly.

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Somewhere in the night, after he had done his best to get rid of it all, there was a soft touch on his hand. He realized, half awake, that it was Hermione.

Wordlessly, she slipped her arms around him and clung, as though her life depended on it. He hesitated a moment, his sleepy mind trying to process the fact that someone was trying to comfort him – or maybe she was the one that needed it – and then he put one arm around her, without moving from his position. Hermione let her head fall to his chest for a moment, assumedly trying to remember he was there.

"Don't leave again," she begged him in a choked whisper.

Her fingers dug into his back, but he didn't respond. He simply squeezed her around the shoulders, once, and she rose to her feet again, wiping a hand across her eyes. Sirius realized, as she went back to her room, that neither of them had slept since they had supposedly gone to bed. That, most likely, at the same time he had been trying to remember, she had been lying awake in her room trying to forget. Because it went in stages, like that, where you would picture their faces as clearly as you could – and then, you'd try to forget they'd ever even existed.

But it was different, when you had someone to hold on to, he realized tiredly. It was so much different than being alone with it that you might start being scared they would leave.

Sirius closed his eyes and tried to force some sleep out of the night. He wasn't very optimistic about his chances, but sleep was, and would always be, a necessity. For some reason he couldn't quite remember anymore.

Sleep was being elusive, though, so he opened his eyes again – and groaned.

Birds were chirping. Light was shining into the living room through that blasted window in the kitchen. And Hermione was in the kitchen too, sitting at the window in a comfortable looking set of muggle clothes and staring outside. It was looking like another overcast day – rain was not a possibility, but an inevitability.

He had fallen asleep, somehow, in between thoughts. The idea was most unnerving.

Hermione, meanwhile, sighed to herself and took a sip of her hot chocolate. She was, apparently, unaware that she was being watched. Sirius decided to take full advantage of the situation.

She was the kind of person you could watch for hours and not lose interest. The way she stirred her drink absently, the way her eyes stared at everything and nothing all at once – the way she tucked her hair behind her ear, the way she bit at her lower lip-

Sirius realized he _was_ staring. Rather unabashedly, at that. Not really wanting to think on that more, he moved from the couch and stretched, brushing himself off.

Hermione turned in surprise at the noise, and he gave her a tired grin. Her own lips twitched once in return – apparently, she wasn't a morning person. Either that, or she'd gotten very little sleep.

Sirius moved into the kitchen and poured a cup of hot chocolate for himself. He set the cup down momentarily to move Hermione's legs from the window seat (she gave a tiny squawk of indignance) and settled himself quite comfortably across from her.

She eyed him defensively over her cup.

"I don't like coffee," she said. "I could make you some, if you want, it's just a little too tangy for me-"

Sirius took a long swallow from the cup and smiled, patting her on the leg. "Hot chocolate is fine."

_Coming down to breakfast, knowing he looked awful but not quite caring. _

_No one at the table.__ A note, saying they'd had to leave a little early for some shopping, but they'd left him some coffee so could he please go ahead and not worry on their account._

_Sirius scowled and ran his fingers through his sleep-mussed hair. Perfect. Another day out without him, because he couldn't go outside, because people would **recognize** him…_

_He sat down and drank his coffee, not wondering why it suddenly tasted so bland._

_Steps on the stairs startled him, however, and he whipped out his wand in surprise. A million thoughts flitted through his head – no one was home, but no one could have gotten in without Dumbledore's help, so maybe it was Kreacher, but he'd been in the attic-_

_Hermione blinked and came to a halt as she turned the corner, eyes trying to focus on his wand. "Well," she said with a laugh. "**Well.**"_

_Sirius lowered the wand, abashed. "Ah. Sorry about that. Why aren't you with the others, though?" He gestured at the note._

_The girl's face turned uncomfortable, and she looked down to fiddle with her oversized shirt. "Yes, well, I wanted to have a bit of a lie-in… told them they could pick a few things up for me…" Awful liar. Truly horrendous. But he felt his heart grow warm at the thought that she'd stayed to keep him company yet again._

_"Sit down and have some coffee, then," he told her with a smile, sitting down again. Hermione did so – one of her hands came up to fret at her tangled hair before giving up, in the end, and dropping to her lap. She blew a disgusted breath out and accepted the cup he offered her, taking a quick sip – then spitting in surprise._

_Sirius raised an eyebrow and she blushed._

_"I – ah – that is-" She looked down at the cup again. "I've never actually had coffee before. The stuff's horrendous –how do you drink it?"_

_He chuckled. "With cream and sugar, usually."_

_Her blush deepened, and he noted the expression on her face. Embarrassed to the point of shame, as though she had been held to some standard and fallen short-_

_Sirius pulled back the cup and shrugged it off. "Not everyone likes coffee. Actually, I mostly drink it for the pick-me-up, myself… hot chocolate?"_

"I was thinking."

Sirius looked up, realizing he'd been staring at the chocolate. Hermione was still gazing out the window, but it seemed deliberate this time. An attempt not to look at him, as though she were afraid she would give something away.

"Yes?" he asked, watching her calm expression turn to that strange, uncomfortable look.

"Hogsmeade has a café. It would be nice to eat breakfast there, instead of making it…" She trailed off uncertainly, and he realized she was asking for his opinion.

"Certainly." He picked up on it immediately. "In fact, let me go shower real quick, and we can go then. I'm sure I look a right mess." She glanced at him, then, and her expression turned unreadable.

"Go ahead," Hermione said. "I'll try and find you another set of clothes if you want." He shrugged noncommittally, although really, the idea of clean clothes sounded wonderful. Sirius walked to the bathroom, unaware of the pensive look Hermione's face wore as she stared after him.

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It was a strange feeling. This need to be perfect, to not say a word out of place, to look as though she knew what she was doing when she was truly frightened out of her wits in regard to the magical world.

Hermione went to her room to rummage through her closet, thoughts in disarray. She'd been off balance ever since Sirius had arrived. Not surprising, considering he was supposed to have been dead, but the truth was that she _always_ felt just a bit unbalanced in the presence of other wizards.

She'd always felt the need to be better than average. That hadn't changed from her youth. She suspected it came from the fact that her parents had told her it was okay to not be the best – so damn supportive, she wanted to retch. It was as though it was always a pleasant surprise when she came home with an A. She was sure they hadn't meant it to feel as though they were underestimating her. Surely, they'd wanted her to be happy.

The feeling of inadequacy had developed into something slightly more frightening when she'd started her magical education and realized that she wasn't ever going to be completely accepted. Something inside her died a little more every time the word 'mudblood' was spoken…

Moving into the kitchen, pulling out the board as though it were just another day, but keeping her eyes carefully down on the floor. He didn't need to see she'd been crying.

_If he noticed this, he didn't say a word. The pieces moved to their spaces and the game began – but neither had spoken except to tell them where to go._

_The game took longer than it should have. She'd not been concentrating hard enough._

_"Hermione," Sirius said quietly. "What on earth is wrong with you today?"_

_She frowned. Was she really that obvious?_

_"I just had a run-in with Malfoy, in Diagon Alley… nothing spectacular, it was just a little annoying, really…"_

_Sirius' expression seemed to indicate he wasn't convinced. And really, she wasn't sure she wanted him to be._

_"Fine," she sighed, rubbing at her face with a hand. "He said some rather more nasty things than normal. That word popped up more than once…"_

_The older man watched her carefully. "Mudblood, you mean?"_

_She flinched as though struck, and he swore under his breath. "Sorry. Just… wanted to make sure." He looked uncomfortable, and she suddenly regretted ever bringing up the subject._

_"Don't worry about it," she told him, forcing some cheer into her voice. "He's a stupid git anyway, he wouldn't know a good defensive spell if it bit him in the-"_

_"You're not listening to him, are you Hermione?"_

_She fell silent, trying to find the correct response, the one she knew she should say at the moment. It just wasn't coming, though, and she decided to put her head in her arms as though she hadn't heard him completely and was simply tired… "It's hard not to when he's shoving it down my throat every time I see him."_

_"You are, then." Sirius' hands locked on either of her arms, pulling them out from under her and holding her up to look at him. "Malfoy **is** a git. Don't pay him any mind except maybe to hex him. You said he couldn't pull a defense, didn't you?"_

_Hermione stared at him, wondering… then decided he could be told. He wouldn't say a word. "Do you know," she whispered with a swallow, "Do you know what it's like to be hated? Just… despised, because of what you are?"_

_Sirius' face took on a funny expression, and she regretted the question, almost. But a smile played across his lips, then, and he set her down, his hands sliding down her arms to lock on her hands. "Yes. I know precisely what you mean." He seemed to choose his next words carefully. "I was a part of the illustrious house of Black, Hermione. By the time I was sixteen, I'd run away, and if I'd dared to show my face at this house again, my own brother would have killed me."_

_Her mouth fell open – she'd known from hints and clues, of course, that he hadn't been welcome – but to **run away**… "That's horrible!" she said indignantly. "Why on earth would they treat you that way?"_

_Sirius leaned back again, and she realized he was still smiling. "Because I hung around with half bloods and werewolves, of course. Being sorted into Gryffindor really didn't help matters either, but it was my 'associates' that really steamed them up." _

_He really didn't seem to mind, but she felt enraged on his behalf. She couldn't imagine it, couldn't comprehend it. "Excuse me for saying so, but it seems your family wasn't very…" she searched for a word that wouldn't offend him. "…nice," she finished lamely._

_Sirius grinned. "You can say they were bastards, Hermione, it's no skin off my back." At her disapproving expression (not for calling his relatives bastards, but for saying the word, period), he put up his hands. "All I'm going to say on this matter is that you really got the better end of the deal, being muggleborn. You're intelligent, attractive, and rather good with magic – had you been born pureblood, I can almost assure you, you'd be stuck up, bratty, ugly, and inbred."_

_Hermione gasped and tried not to laugh – failing this, she covered her mouth with a hand and giggled. "Sirius – **you're** pureblood."_

_He shrugged. "I like to think I was adopted." With this, he prodded his king, who was still lying on the board, defeated. The piece glared at him before getting to his feet in a dignified manner and hustling his troops back into position. "Now," Sirius said in an official tone. "Are you going to wipe the floor with me again, or must I force you?"_

She tried to calm her laughter, but only managed to pull it down to a quiet snicker every few moments. "Sure. I'll do my best."

Ah yes. This set of clothes would do. A bit old, but nothing a quick spell couldn't fix.

She left them by the bathroom door and went to get changed into something less casual. She didn't have any robes that fit her – she'd outgrown her seventeen-year-old Hogwarts robes long ago, and besides, they still had her Gryffindor badge on them. Be rather funny, a thirty something woman in student robes…

Hermione came out and almost took another sip of her hot chocolate before realizing it was no longer quite so hot. She made a face and turned as Sirius walked out, buttoning up the shirt.

"To Hogsmeade?" he asked. "Perhaps a butterbeer to celebrate freedom?"

She snorted. "Maybe later. Breakfast, Sirius." Hermione smoothed down her blouse and walked to the fireplace, ignoring Sirius' bewildered look. The witch reached for a small drawstring bag resting on a table near it, and drew out a fistful of powder.

"Where did you get that?" Sirius asked, surprised and just a little suspicious.

Hermione shrugged, but she knew she must've been blaring warning signs – so she said, as clearly as she could, "Hogsmeade," and threw the powder into the grate. As the whirl of fire enveloped her, she heaved a sigh of relief. While she was a grown woman now, Sirius would probably not have been happy to know she'd apparated to Diagon Alley again that morning to buy some floo powder. But really, it wasn't that big of a deal – she'd only thrown up once.

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The floo powder let her out into a public grate, beneath a small overhang. Hermione stepped out into the street, a little bit unbalanced, but otherwise none the worse for the wear.

A pop from behind her signaled that Sirius had appeared. Hoping he was following, she took a side street, past Scrivenshaft's and Gladrags and toward the small café she'd seen that morning. The place was still open, despite the fact that lunch was quickly approaching – she noted with interest that the seats were near full now, where before they'd only had a few customers. With a shrug to herself, Hermione sat down at a table and turned her head to see if Sirius had kept up.

He had. But he was now staring at another building with a broad frown on his face.

The triple "W", again.

Except this time, there was a window into the shop, and it seemed _very_ busy indeed.

Teenagers were pulling things off shelves, buying small trinkets, and laughing with each other. And as Hermione looked closer, she realized that they were buying Christmas presents – it was the winter holidays now, and Hogsmeade was in business. Which meant…

She tore her gaze from the store and looked through the window of the café, into the building itself. Certainly not. _Certainly_ not.

"Hello, my name is Jenny, I'll be your waitress today, Miss. Here's your menus, and if you need anything, please press the bell at the center of the table and I'll be here right away." Hermione looked up into a young teen's face and smiled.

"Could I possibly get a hot chocolate and…" She thought for a moment. "An apple juice."

The girl wrote her order down quickly and made ready to leave, but Hermione stopped her. "Wait," she said. At the waitress's twitching smile (which spoke of other things that needed to get done), Hermione thought she may as well ask quickly. "What is that building, over there?"

The twitching smile stopped, and turned immediately bright. "That's the new prank shop. They replaced Zonko's a couple years back – _everything_ on their shelves is on the caretaker's list." She snickered, apparently in memory of a particularly fun use for one of those forbidden items, before remembering her job and rushing back to the building.

Hermione caught her breath, though, and turned back to Sirius, who was definitely trying to place where he'd heard of the place before. She motioned for him to sit down, though, as the girl came back with their drinks. The confused expression left his face as he saw the apple juice.

"Ah," Sirius said, his mouth twitching into a grin. "You're awful."

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The drinks went down rather quickly – and the two found that neither of them was really hungry for anything, having filled up all the space in their stomachs with chocolate and apple juice.

Hermione was watching him, now, and he wasn't entirely sure he liked her concentrated expression. It reminded him uncannily of Lily, of the times right before she'd ask him some entirely personal question that would make him blush so hard his _glasses_ turned red.

Sirius turned his head around to frown at her.

"What?" Hermione asked, arranging her face carefully into innocence. But Sirius was well acquainted with such an attempt, having done it many, many times before, many times more than she-

Except.

Well.

She'd been through seven years of Hogwarts now. And then, she just about matched him year for year. In every way that counted… he was now her age.

What a disturbing thought.

"What is it?" her voice cut into his thoughts, concerned. Sirius shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. This would take some thinking on.

"It's nothing," he replied, trying to keep the unease from his voice. "Just- just wondering what that building is."

Hermione turned to regard it and bit her lip in concentration. Sirius wasn't quite certain he was supposed to be watching her lips so closely, but he pushed the thought away as suspicion darkened her eyes to a deep brown.

"I have a hunch…" she muttered. "But, no, that would be-"

"Granger?"

Her face went utterly white, and a hand went over her mouth.

A man stepped around the table with an almost amusingly shocked expression on his face, as though he'd seen a ghost. Perhaps he had – his hair was almost pure white, and his skin might have been pale enough to make him sickly. Yes, in fact, had he not held himself so high, he would have looked like he was dying.

Hermione stared up at him, something like guilt on her face.

"Malfoy," she whispered.


	11. Impossibilities

**Lost and Found**

**By Rurouni Star**

**Chapter 10 – Impossibilities**

It was impossible. No, it wasn't, _Sirius_ was impossible, Malfoy was just… highly improbable.

"What- where-" She found she wasn't quite able to get the words out.

The pale man seemed to regain his swagger, then. A sneer crossed his face. "So, the great war hero's finally reappeared. Have a good seventeen year cry, mudblood?"

It was her turn to go white, this time, and a tiny, pained gasp escaped her. Something hot and painful pricked behind her eyelids, but she held the tears in check by sheer force of will. She wouldn't give him the _satisfaction-_

Sirius stood up abruptly, and she turned to look at him in surprise – she'd almost forgotten he was there. He'd never been there before when they'd confronted Malfoy… a tear escaped her, just then, at the thought of the way they'd always defended her, but she held in the rest and hoped no one had caught it.

The dark haired wizard had his fists clenched tightly at his sides, and he looked up at Malfoy with a look of such intense hatred on his face that Hermione froze in her seat.

"Don't – you – _ever_ – call her that."

Malfoy snorted. "What's this, a boyfriend, Granger? I wouldn't have thought you'd have it in you, since your old ones died-"

Sirius lunged for him, but Hermione, used to being the only calm one in these types of situations, grabbed him beneath the arms to keep him back.

Draco raised an eyebrow, very much unimpressed, and Hermione found herself tempted to let Sirius do what he wanted.

"Yes, well, you're looking like you've done well for yourself," Hermione bit back, trying to keep the bitter sarcasm from her words. Draco, in fact, looked reminiscent of a certain werewolf that had once been this age – right down to the patched robes.

He snorted. "What would you know about it? What I hear, you've been living like a common muggle."

"You find something wrong with that?" she asked sourly, as Sirius relaxed slightly. She didn't let him go, though. He was tricky like that, and she didn't want to be responsible for Malfoy being beaten to within an inch of his life. Police inquiries almost always followed that kind of thing.

"Find something wrong with it?" Draco asked incredulously. "You spent seven years learning magic, you nearly got yourself killed every single one of them – and now you completely ignore everything you learned. You should at least pretend to be a wizard, even if you're not worthy of it."

Hermione's brow knit in confusion, then – there was something _wrong_ with the way he was baiting her. It wasn't quite the same, in just the places that counted…

"I'm sure you'd know all about being a wizard," Sirius said in a tight voice. "Despite the fact that your family's the most reviled pack of dogs that ever tried to learn magic. Insulting someone you hated when you were a schoolboy – I'm sure your father's proud-"

Draco's mouth fell open in rage, and his face turned pink with anger. Hermione realized, then, that she hadn't mentioned to Sirius that Lucius was _dead_-

"Stupef-"

"Protego!" She pulled her wand quickly, making the spell disappear harmlessly. But she'd had to let go of Sirius, and now he was moving toward Malfoy.

"Sirius!" she yelled. "No!"

A group of people had surrounded them, some curious, some wearing disapproving expressions. Surprisingly, a lot of them were young – very young – and those disapproving looks were directed toward her and Sirius.

Malfoy seemed to be trying to fire off another spell, but Sirius would easily beat him to the punch – probably literally, at that. Hermione moaned, and realized she would have to do something drastic.

"Petrificus Totalus!"

Everything froze, for just a second.

Draco gaped at her.

"Granger – you – _why?_" he managed, flabbergasted.

She fell back into her chair heavily, putting a hand to her head and sighing.

"Can we _please_ stop acting like the children we all used to be and sort this out like mature adults?" she asked in a muffled voice.

Sirius, being frozen, could do nothing but scowl.

"Fuck," he muttered instantly, and he sat down too, ignoring the man beside him. "Dumbledore's going to be pissed, isn't he?"

Hermione found herself caught between unfreezing Sirius, telling Malfoy off for his language, and just banging her head against the table. She decided to do the first two, in order.

"Finite Incantatum."

The unhappy statue reverted to normal, and she turned a disapproving look on Malfoy. "Can't you swear at me when there's _not_ a bunch of thirteen year olds staring at us?"

The platinum-haired man snorted. "They hear me say worse stuff on a day to day basis. Bet you never knew our family teaches hexing _and_ cursing."

She rolled her eyes as Sirius sat down next to her, silent. Only then did she realize he might be angry with her.

_Well shit. We'll burn that bridge when we come to it._ She winced as she realized she'd just told Malfoy not to curse, but it really didn't count since it was in her head.

"Well," the man she remembered as a boy drawled. "Perhaps we should wait until I finish my Hogsmeade duty to go up and get my dueling second. Not that I really do that great a job, anyway – s'posed to keep the little brats from acting up, but they do it anyway."

A few of the children elbowed each other at this and smirked. The crowd began to disperse.

She scowled. "I meant talking it out, not dueling. Honestly…" Then, a realization sunk in. "Malfoy…" Hermione said cautiously. "You mean to tell me… you work for Hogwarts?"

His face twisted _awfully_ and she knew he was biting back a nasty retort forcefully. "Yes, Granger, I work at Hogwarts. For Dumbledore. As a teacher." He glared at Sirius, as though to dare him to say something.

Sirius, however, was not saying much of anything. To either of them.

"Well," Malfoy said after a moment. "What are talking out, anyway?"

Hermione's lips thinned to a line. "You mean you don't even remember what we were fighting about?"

He shrugged. "Instinct, woman. You always did get on my nerves."

She repressed the instinct to turn him into a ferret. "_This_ is what we were arguing about. The part where you immediately attack me because of my blood ties and affiliations with d-dead friends-" she stumbled over the word and felt her heart give a lurch. Sirius appeared to forget his anger with her for a moment, because his hand moved to grab hers reassuringly beneath the table. She grasped it desperately.

Malfoy watched her with a foreign expression, and she suddenly wished she hadn't tried to talk to him. She wished she'd just left, walked or apparated home (despite the fact it would probably have made her throw up yet again).

He spoke, then, quietly. "Habit dies hard, Granger. Truth be told, I meant what I said – Dumbledore would give me more than the usual guilt trip for this little episode. The man's been hoping you'd come out of your shell for years, and if I'd screwed it up…"

She realized what it was on his face, then. And she decided quite suddenly that she didn't like it at all. No, not at all.

_Pity._

From a Malfoy.

How low had she sunk?

"I don't need anything from Dumbledore," she told him, but her voice shook slightly. "Him and his manipulations cost me everything-"

"You think he doesn't know that?" Malfoy said in a troubled voice, and she found herself in a most unlikely situation. He was _defending_ Dumbledore. "He's not happy with the outcome, I assure you. Especially after that episode with Black, when you started pining-"

Hermione's glare made him chuckle. "What? Still sensitive about that? Lord, it's been seventeen years, like you said-"

"Nineteen."

He blinked. "What?" he asked her.

"Nineteen," Hermione gritted out. "It's been nineteen years since Sirius disappeared."

Draco snorted. "Ah well. Does it really matter, in the long run?"

She tightened her hand almost imperceptibly, but was almost certain that Sirius had caught it. "No," she whispered with a swallow. "I guess it doesn't, to you."

Those two years had made all the difference. Every single bit. To Harry and Ron, they would've meant the world.

_"Fuck_, Granger, don't cry- what'd I say this time-"

Sirius slid his hand up her arm to clasp it helpfully, and she bit her lip. The tears stopped again.

Malfoy's face was priceless, though, she had to admit that. He was really beginning to worry about something – probably his own hide, once Dumbledore found out about whatever it was – and it wasn't an expression she was used to seeing on a Malfoy.

"What- what is it you teach, exactly?" she asked him, trying to compose herself.

Draco eyed her a moment before continuing. "Potions, of course."

She laughed once. "You terrorize the students like Snape used to?" she asked. "Favor the Slytherins much?"

Malfoy waved his hand. "Of course not, imbecile. The students love me. I'm the only one that'll tell them to their faces that they're yappy little bastards. Well… and mean it, anyway." He leaned back lazily, as though consciously ignoring the way he'd been taught to sit straight. "Snape still holds the position of most-hated teacher. I wouldn't want to deprive him."

"Of course not," Sirius spoke ironically. "We couldn't have poor Snivellus losing his fan crowd."

Draco scowled at him. "Just who _are_ you, anyway? I _know_ I never went to school with you. Beauxbatons, then? Or, no, you look more like Durmstrang…"

Hermione choked and spoke before Sirius could respond. "Don't you have to get your students together about now?" she asked. "I seem to remember the ending time being three, and it's already four fifteen-"

Malfoy shifted uncomfortably in his seat, as though caught in some despicable act. "Yeah, well. They're a pain to round up. I figure if I let them run around screaming a bit longer, they'll lose some excess energy and let me herd them together more easily…"

Hermione, surprisingly, was beginning to get an idea of why Malfoy was loved by his students.

But as he turned his attention back to Sirius, she grasped at another subject. "What kind of stuff are you teaching the seventh years?" she asked quickly. "Doesn't it change every year?"

Malfoy blinked. "Granger… are you actually trying to make _small talk_ with me?"

She frowned. "What? Is that wrong, or just beneath your dignity?"

He shrugged. "Well then. Right now, I'm having them study some of the more complicated theory behind Polyjuice potion-"

Both Hermione and Sirius choked back laughter and he frowned.

"Look, if you were just going to belittle it – although I really thought better of _you_, Granger, being a goody two shoes-"

"No!" she gasped. "No, it's not that- it's just- just- oh my, I don't know how to tell you. Well, you remember second year, when the Chamber got opened-"

His frown deepened, but he nodded anyway. "Long time ago, but yes."

She swallowed the laughter that threatened to consume her. "Well, Harry and Ron and me, we thought _you-_ well, so we brewed some Polyjuice potion and they impersonated Crabbe and Goyle to try and get some information…"

Draco gaped and she _did_ burst out laughing this time. "That was _you?_" he said, and for a moment, she feared he might tell Dumbledore on her as though she were still a second year. But she knew better. The only reason she'd even thought to tell him was the fact that she was beyond expulsion or any such punishment now.

"Well actually," she managed a moment later. "_I_ was stuck in a bathroom stall looking like a cat. But that's a completely different story."

Sirius chuckled. "I remember hearing about that one- damn, you don't know what _we_ would've done with a Polyjuice potion. Would've made your little expedition seem tame by comparison."

Malfoy turned to him yet again, and Hermione gave up.

_What am I afraid of, anyway?_

Sirius would have to let people know at _some_ point. It wasn't as though it would do any real harm, either…

But…

A disturbing thought crossed her mind.

Maybe, just maybe, she was… holding on to him. Keeping him from leaving, because she was afraid to be alone again.

"I…" she looked at them uncertainly, then got up from her seat. "I think I'm going to go check out that store. Go ahead and meet me in there if you want, I shouldn't be long," she said to Sirius. And then, with a quick look at Malfoy, "Nice seeing you again." What a strange twist of fate that she would say that to him, of all people. It was almost true, too…

She bolted for the triple "W" and hoped none of Malfoy's students took it into their heads to prank her while she was in there, for trespassing against their beloved Potions teacher.

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"Well that was interesting behavior, even for her," Malfoy commented as he watched Hermione run for the shop.

Sirius tried to find a way to take that sentence in the wrong way, but couldn't. The glare that had appeared on his face left again. "Yes, well, she's been very jumpy lately. Strange things have been going on." He wondered idly if Draco had figured out that he was speaking to a family member, albeit a far removed and intentionally forgotten family member.

Draco turned to look at him appraisingly, taking in his muggle clothing and lack of wand. Sirius _did_ glare at him this time. "Have a problem?" he asked coolly.

"Why yes," Malfoy responded, in just such an icy tone. "I would like to know why you tried to attack me."

Sirius tensed. "Well, you might not remember - you were too busy trying to rip open a couple of my friend's emotional scars.  You tried to curse me."

Malfoy seemed unplussed. "So I did. And _I_ seem to remember some comment about my father."

"I said he must be proud," Sirius muttered. "Believe me, it was intended to insult _you_."

Draco scowled. "Who _are_ you?"

His first cousin, once removed, looked into his eyes, and said, "Sirius Black."

Malfoy froze.

And then, his eyes flashed angrily. "You know, I should probably jinx you for that one. Granger herself would probably do it for me. She's got a temper where he's concerned, after all…"

Sirius' interest perked, despite the fact that he wanted to prove his identity with a certain very frightening wanted poster he had kept in his pocket... "How so?"

Malfoy's face was quite serious, and just a little bit vindictive. "Probably shouldn't tell you. _I'm_ not supposed to know, after all."

Ah. He was baiting him. He'd seen the instant of notice in Sirius' expression.

"I assure you, I can keep a secret." How ironic, and how _wrong_ that was.

Draco leaned in, then, and Sirius knew he was taking a tangible and vicious pleasure in this. "Everyone knows Bellatrix Lestrange killed Sirius Black, even if they don't all know how." His tone indicated that he was one of the select few privy to this information. Sirius tried not to snort. "The short of it – Granger used an _Unforgivable_ on her."

Sirius stared at him.

"The Cruciatus?" he asked nervously. He couldn't see her doing that, not Hermione-

"Avada Kedavra," Drace said maliciously, as though waiting for the moment when Sirius would turn tail and run, screaming.

_Fuck._

Not to quote Draco, or anything.

"She wasn't… put into Azkaban?" Sirius asked, something in his stomach sinking horribly. He'd told her she was silly not to think he or Lupin would avenge her so viciously… and now, he realized, he was on the receiving end of a guilty gift.

Malfoy seemed slightly put out that he wasn't more impressed. "No, of course not," he snapped. "You really think Dumbledore would let it get out that one of his precious three had been using _Unforgivables?_ That's why I said I shouldn't tell you, you dolt."

"Professor Malfoy!" a young voice called from behind them. The two turned to look at the boy that had called for Draco. A young Hufflepuff in full prefect regalia (that was to say the badge), his eyes were glazed, as though he'd eaten just a little too much candy and just lost his sugar high. "I think we're all ready to go now. Except Darla, but you know she's-"

"Always dawdling, yes," Draco muttered. "Alright then, why don't you have someone go get her? I want everyone back here in five minutes, or we leave without them. And-" his voice lowered ominously, "I will know if someone has been… forcibly detained."

The boy grinned. "Yessir," he said.

And, as he ran off, apparently to fetch a certain girl…

Malfoy pulled out a bit of parchment.

"I solemnly swear I am up to no good," he murmured, tapping his wand to the paper.

Sirius stared at him.

And Draco's eyes widened as he watched the lines that spread out from the parchment… and a single, very important name that stood out next to him.

"You-"

_Bam._

There was an explosion from the building with the triple "W"s, and a very high, very distinctive scream was heard.


	12. Up to No Good

**Lost and Found**

**By Rurouni Star**

A few little comments…

Very early on, it was said that Snape had taken the position of DADA (when Sirius was wondering if he was dead or not). Also, Malfoy is still very much a bastard (as evidenced by his use of rather colorful language, his typical, evil insults, and the word 'mudblood' which one should never hear in civilized conversation). Sirius had about the right reaction, but Hermione's too nice for her own good, so they got it all settled out. Lastly, we all knew Hermione had killed Bellatrix (another early on – she did it when Snape slipped her wand to her, and Snape killed MacNair as well). However, the part where we learn that is somewhat hazy and confusing, so you'll be learning the details very soon.

**Chapter 11 – Up to No Good**

Surprisingly, there were two people running toward the building. Sirius wondered briefly what the hell Malfoy thought he was doing, until he saw the unmistakable crowd of Hogwarts students inside. Ah yes. He was supposed to be in charge of them.

_Deatheaters, maybe._ Sirius thought wildly. _If they've touched a **hair** on her head, I'll-_

He reached the door first, throwing it open with a sound _SLAM!_ Glass shattered as the door hit the wall outside, and Malfoy found himself slipping on shards as he tried to get in.

The place was a mess. Things strewn everywhere, kids going wild-

"Oh. Hello there, Malfoy," said a pleasant and very familiar voice.

Sirius stopped in his tracks at the sight of Hermione, cowering into a redheaded man's shoulder with a shudder. "Get it away, George!" she shrieked.

A multi-colored, sparkling snake was slithering its way up her leg. It had antennae.

Malfoy's face was a mask of rage – he pulled his wand, made a curt gesture at the thing, and Sirius watched as it dissolved into ashes.

Hermione fainted.

George held her up with a frown. "Oh come on now, Hermione, first time I see you in years and you fall apart at something like _that?_"

"Weasley!" Malfoy snarled. "You utter _bastard_, I thought something serious had happened!"

George (who was busy shaking Hermione) did not look up. "You should know by now to ignore any explosions coming from _here_, of all places," the man muttered. "Oi! Hermione!" he said louder. "Wake up! I'll give you some canary creams or something for the trouble!"

She moaned, deep in her throat. "You… you… bastard…" she said, unknowingly repeating Malfoy. "You _know_ I hate snakes. You _know!"_

George grinned down at her. "Well yeah. But I've been saving that one up for years. We developed it just with you in mind."

A few of the students, who had actually been cheering and not going rampant, began to clap appreciatively. Malfoy put his head in his hand with a groan.

"If _anyone_ buys skiving snackboxes in here, I will personally put their arses into detention in the worst way possible," he snapped. Then paused. "Well. Unless you use them in McGonagall's class…"

Sirius stormed up to George, pulling Hermione from him. "Okay, okay," he said darkly. "Funny joke, indeed. Lord, at least I had the sense to prank my _enemies_."

George blinked.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"If my students could _please_ come with me now," Malfoy snapped, interrupting. "We should be getting back to Hogwarts. Go ahead and pay for your stuff and then _get out here_." With that, he strode from the shop, his strangely patched robe billowing out behind him in a way that very keenly reminded Sirius of Snape. As he left, the door reassembled itself with a curt wave of his wand.

Malfoy must've been taking lessons in 'how to be an ugly bat'.

"Hermione?" he asked quietly. "You okay?"

She frowned up at him. Then realized she had changed places. "Sirius?"

He gave a quick nod. "Yes. Still here."

Sirius was certain that, had he been looking up, he would have seen the most miraculous (and hilarious) transition of expressions on George's face. However, Hermione was looking just a little peaky, and he had a feeling…

"S-Sirius?" George managed. "Sirius _Black?_ Padfoot? Alive, here, now?"

Hermione giggled. "Yessir. Right here. Right… right… here…" Her eyes were glazed, and Sirius groaned.

"What the hell did you put in that snake?" he asked George.

Hermione's eyes widened. "What? Snake? Where?" She stumbled as she tried to escape him, but he tightened his grip on her.

_"Sirius?"_ George said again, flabbergasted.

He glared at the man. "Yes?"

A slow smile crept its way across the twin's face. "See if it bit her."

A tad bit unsettled by the expression on his face, Sirius knelt down and set Hermione against the wall, pushing up her pant leg to check… and closed his eyes in unhappiness. This was _bound_ to be bad, he just knew it.

"Yes, it bit her, George."

The red-headed man laughed. "Oh _wonderful!_ Never would've thought to get her off-guard like that, but there you are!" At the other man's murderous look, he chuckled. "Nothing to worry about, mate. Just some firewhisky. Should wear off by… oh, tomorrow morning."

Sirius groaned as Hermione draped herself across him sleepily. "Need a nap…" she muttered. "I feel all floaty…"

The students had left by now (a few of them actually requested some of the strange inebriating animals, which George liked to call 'lovebugs' for the hickey they left on the victim's leg). Draco Malfoy, however, reappeared in the doorway.

"What on _earth?_" he said, at the sight of Hermione giggling madly.

Sirius glared at him. "Ask him." He jerked his head in George Weasley's direction.

Draco did so. And swore quite loudly when the store owner informed him happily that the snakes had been a smashing success with the students.

"I hope you put a charm in there to protect the teachers," the blond-haired wizard muttered. "Otherwise, it's going to be a _very_ Merry Christmas."

George winked. "Naw. I put in the safety on this one. Not that Dumbledore wouldn't enjoy it…"

"Dubble- duggle- dimbledore-?" Hermione murmured giddily. "Can't say it right. Wonder why…"

Malfoy raised an eyebrow for the second time that day. Then shook his head miserably. "Will you be needing a ride up to the castle?"

Sirius shook his head. "No, I think I'm taking her home by floo – that is, if I could borrow some from Mr. Weasley, here."

At the two very pointed looks thrown his way, George shrugged. "Sure. Why don't you stay for tea, though, catch up on some things? Really, it's wonderful to see you, thought you were-"

"Dead," Sirius finished. "Yes, I know. And… no, I wasn't." He hoisted Hermione to her feet. "Actually… I have to admit, this _is_ kind of amusing." At George's bright look, he chuckled. "Don't tell _her_ I said that, though. Hopefully, she won't remember."

George grinned. "Of course she won't. That there's got a little memory fixing potion in it."

Draco shook his head in disgust. "You're brilliant, Weasley, I give you that. But do try not to set the whole village into a panic next time."

Sirius' eyebrows must have risen above his hairline. Malfoy was… almost friendly. Strange.

He watched as the man sauntered out of the shop again, then Sirius turned his gaze back to George. The Weasley was sitting serenely on top of the counter, as though he hadn't just inebriated a poor woman past sensibility.

"What's with him?" Sirius asked.

George grinned. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you." At the sour expression thrown his way, he relented. "But I will anyway, of course, mate. Well, seems that his family lost their holdings and money to pay reparations after the war. Poor wittle Malfoy was left with nothing but his robes – and you can see how far those've gotten. No one wanted to hire anyone associated with the Deatheaters - Dumbledore took pity and hired the poor jackal, or so I've heard. Have to admit, he is rather good with potions…"

Sirius shook his head. "I'm afraid I've just gotten back from… well, from wherever. I've got a lot of catching up to do. May I also ask, though, why he was in possession of _my_ map? And, of course, why it shows the Hogsmeade area."

George nodded, as though this were a sensible question (and it was, of course). "Me and Fred extended it to cover Hogsmeade during the war. It was bloody hard to do, even with Lupin's help – you realize how many _spells_ are on that thing to prevent tampering?" Sirius merely grinned. Of course he knew – they'd gotten Lily's help with those in seventh year, and she was nothing if not amazing with charms. "Well afterward, Snape said it was too dangerous in the hands of students (since they kept playing pranks on him, the stupid git) so the staff uses it to keep them in line every once in a while. I only know this, of course, since I helped to work on it. It's top secret Dumbledore stuff now." He winked at this.

"Dubbledoe," Hermione mumbled. "Dum- dumbledoe."

Sirius looked down at her with an arched eyebrow, but she merely snuggled deeper into his robes with a hiccup.

"She _will_ be _pissed_ at you when she wakes up, you realize," he told George.

George snickered. "She already looks pretty pissed to me, if you don't mind my saying so."

"True enough, that." Sirius gave a wry smile. "So where's Fred, if I may ask."

George snorted. "Went off and got married, the dope. He owns the other shop, down on Diagon Alley. I'll tell you, though, even though both are pretty popular, this one gets a lot more business. Students and house rivalries and all. Slytherins have all but bought my whole stock before – then the Gryffindors have to do it too, next weekend, and before you know it, I'm having to invent new stuff just to keep up with their schemes. I'm even getting personal orders… interesting stuff."

Sirius leaned back against the wall, trying to ignore the woman snoring against his chest and failing miserably (though George didn't have to know that). "Sounds like a fun job. I could already tell you a couple hundred ideas I never got to see happen…"

George's eyes glittered. "_Could_ you now…"

.

.

.

.

.

Sirius decided that he could forgive George his transgression. And maybe that school of goldfish he'd since confessed to putting in his bath.

Because they'd already drawn up in-depth plans for the new snapping origami, jaw-sticking gum, and combination sneezing/itching dust.

"Wonderful," George cackled. "I think I'll restrict these particular sales to the Slytherins."

Sirius blinked. "Why on earth-"

"They're ahead in house points," George said with a grin. "And I do so hate to keep them from their spectacular failures."

The formerly older man grinned. "You little spy. You tell on them!"

George put a hand to his chest, as though struck. "My god, you have no faith in me at all, do you? I would _never_ tell _anyone_ that Johnston is clearly planning to put a nosebleed nougat into Ansery's breakfast, or that Pret is going to move on the Gryffindor girls' dormitory in about two weeks…" The redheaded man winked. "Oh look. I've gone and told, haven't I?"

Sirius snorted. "Why yes you have. But I'm afraid I'm not going to be able to do anything about it – especially considering I have a few…" He glanced momentarily at the peacefully snoozing Hermione, whom they'd relocated to the backroom's couch, "presents to get," Sirius dropped his voice lower.

George crossed his heart. "Won't tell, I swear." At the other man's dubious look, his expression turned utterly serious. "She needs a nice little surprise. I won't tell. Fact, you can leave her here while you go, if you like."

Sirius rolled his eyes. "Oh why _thank you_, George. What a kind offer, after you've gone and gotten her drunk."

The twin tutted. "Well then, she shouldn't be such a lightweight. Wasn't all that much in there, you know. Course, it was a bit strong…"

"How strong?" Sirius asked curiously.

George grinned. "About 180 proof. Not too bad."

Sirius shook his head and left to do his shopping. As Hermione wasn't supposed to sober up for _at least_ another thirteen hours, he figured he was safe.

It was only once he'd reached the outside that he realized he had no idea what he was getting her.

The problem wasn't money. He had money up the wazoo. He highly doubted he would ever see the end of his money. The problem was that he had no idea what she wanted. Books were usually a good bet with her, but he didn't know what kind she liked (other than _Hogwarts: A History_, of course – and even that was debatable lately).

Ah!

But he _did_ owe her a chocolate bar from Honeydukes.

That was certainly a start.

.

.

.

.

.

Hermione groaned as she awoke, a pounding headache drilling into her skull. Someone clapped her on the back a few times, and she realized it was fading.

George smiled down at her. She frowned back.

"Oh dear me," he said. "I must've _accidentally_ picked the wrong snake. You've only been out for a few hours!"

Hermione's eyes widened. _Out?_ She'd been out?

"What did you do to me, George!" she said, although it sounded like such a scream that she moaned and covered her ears. No good – the sound of blood pounding through her head was awful enough.

"Now, now, you sissy," he admonished. "Twas just a little taste. I take it you've never had a hangover before?"

Hermione shot him a dirty look. "Of course not!"

George sighed theatrically. "Another prefect's life wasted away. Percy would be so proud of you." At her face, however, he sobered. "Honestly, I just wanted to talk to you about a few things. Before he gets back."

It took her a moment to realize whom he was talking about. "Sirius? Where's he gone?"

George shifted. "Out." Before she could ask him what he was hiding, though, he pressed onward. "Why didn't you come see us, Hermione?" he asked. "Or at least come to the _funeral_." She flinched and looked away, and he instantly knew the reason. But it was fine. Everything was gone, no changing it now.

"I couldn't look anyone in the eye," she admitted miserably. "Not after-"

"No one blames you," he told her sternly. And for once, she realized George was being on the level with her. Hermione sighed. It must have come from seventeen years of growing up.

"I know no one blames me," she said quietly. "But _I_ blame me. And I don't know if that will ever change."

George stared at her for a few moments, as though trying to figure out how to get something through her thick head. But he changed his mind, apparently, because the next thing he said was: "Sirius?"

Hermione grimaced. "A lost and found charm. You wouldn't believe the _shock_ I got…" she trailed off uncertainly. "But it's good, in the end. I- I missed him." She found her eyes had turned watery, and she rubbed at them frustratedly. "I missed _all_ of you, and I didn't even really realize it until now." George shushed her and patted her on the back again, but she threw herself at him and hugged him tightly. "The things I never saw… I'm so sorry…"

George smiled. "Yeah, well, the Burrow hasn't been the same without you coming every summer. I swear Percy's disappointed he hasn't got anyone to talk to about his cauldron bottoms…"

Hermione sniffled. "D-didn't he get promoted?" she asked.

George shrugged. "Probably. In fact, I'm sure he was trying to tell me some new and exciting thing he was doing at work the other day, but I happened to tune him out. Accidentally."

Hermione laughed, trying to expel the frog in her throat. "H-how can you accidentally tune someone out?"

He grinned. "By throwing a shrieking sticky on the floor and running."

She groaned. "You're _awful!"_ But it really was very hard not to laugh. She decided to go ahead and do it.

George looked gratified. "Wonderful. By the way…" He handed her something soft and wrapped, and she stopped to look down at it.

_Canary Creams_

_A Weasley's Wizard Wheezes Product_

_One Pastry_

Hermione blinked.

"I _did_ promise," he told her with a wink. "If you want, you can help me test out a few of my newest products – _on Sirius!"_ he added quickly, as she glared at him in expectation of another horrible testing experience.

The woman's face softened – and he thought it almost got a devious look to it.

"Certainly, I will take a look, George," she told him. "But only because you… need help," she hesitated, "as you so put it. It has nothing to do with the fact that Sirius thought this whole incident was amusing."

George coughed. "How in the _world_ did you find that out?" he demanded.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Your memory additive was faulty, I would guess. You shouldn't be worrying – it's his hide, not yours."

He considered this a moment – then nodded. "Very true." He took out a spare bit of parchment, then, and began writing on it – then frowned as it spat a few insults at him and got another. "Well," George said cheerily as he wrote, "here's something for you. Dad finally got himself a fellytone installed in the house – everyone'd love to see you again, so if you just call…" He trailed off as he handed her the sheet of parchment, which had a short series of numbers on it, and she realized he was uncomfortable.

She smiled. "I'd like that."

For a moment, he simply stared at her, as though he were seeing something he'd never dared to hope for. Then, he leaned forward, grabbed her face in his hands, and kissed her on the forehead in a most un-Georgelike manner.

"You will _always_ be a part of our family," he said quietly. "I'll be glad to have you back as my sister again."

Hermione's smile became watery, and she hugged him. "Thank you, George," she told him. "You don't know how much that always meant to me."

He gave her a strange look. "Course I do. That time when you let me and Fred off the hook even though you _saw_ us detonate the stinkbomb-"

Hermione turned bright red. "Well… well, prefects aren't teachers, after all…"

George grinned. "Good thing you've got at least some experience in the lying department. Because I've got news for you: you're still supposed to be drunk." At her expression (priceless, she was sure), his grin widened. "There's two ways to do this, Hermione. I can give you a nice dose of firewhisky again, or you can… _pretend."_

His emphasis on the last made it quite clear which he favored. "Just think, Hermione, you'll be helping me out _and_ you'll get to say the most ridiculous things – because, obviously, you're not going to _remember_ them." His eyes twinkled in a way reminiscent of Dumbledore.

She blinked with trepidation.

No. There was no way. She didn't want another hangover, but she _hated_ lying, and to do it for a whole _night-_

"Oh look at that," George said. "He's coming back. You'll have to choose rather quickly…" A small shot glass appeared in his right hand, held out to her as the lesser of two evils in a very tempting choice.

Hermione decided she didn't want to know how he could come up with a shot of firewhisky that fast. "Complete with memory altering substance," he winked. "Hopefully, this one's not faulty."

"Fine," she snapped, taking the shot glass from him with a nervous look outside. "But if I remember this, you are _so_ dead."

And she tossed it back almost professionally, putting it down on the table as the door opened once again.

The stuff had a bitter taste that stayed in her mouth – tangy, like apple juice. Hermione made a very unhappy face as it reached her near-empty stomach.

Sirius raised an eyebrow as she rose and swayed on her feet, and he handed a few packages off to George with a quiet word before offering her his shoulder to lean on.

Hermione took it, hiccupping once. Her eyes went unfocused as she looked up into his face, and she moaned.

"I don't like liquor for a-" _Hic!_ "-for a reason."

Sirius looked as though he were trying not to smile. "Well, you haven't had any food today. Luckily, I bought some, so why don't we get home and eat before you throw up all over these nice, new robes of mine?"

She noticed with a blink that the shoulder she was leaning on was very soft and very comfortable. Silk. Her clouded mind came up with the very strange, very uncomfortable conclusion that there was very little between her cheek and… skin.

Her face inflamed even more than it had been, but she thought hazily that it didn't matter anyway. She was drunk, damnit, and if she wanted to think the man she'd somehow rescued from the dead was cute, then… well, she would!

"Did I get any silk robes?" she asked blankly.

Sirius chuckled. "Yes, in fact. They're not perfectly sized, but I did the best I could."

Hermione smiled. "Really-" _Hic!_ "-nice of you, really…" A line creased her brow. Had she just repeated herself?

Oh well.

"I got some floo powder, so I suppose we won't be needing to borrow any for the moment," Sirius said to George, but he was looking at her. "Thanks for the help, and, uh…"

Hermione was giggling madly into his shoulder. She couldn't help it. She was cold (she was always cold, people told her that her hands were always cold-) and he was very nicely warm, and Sirius was looking down at her with such a _strange_ expression-

"George," he swallowed. "Have you ever seen Hermione drunk before?"

She felt her giggling increase.

"Nope," George said with a chuckle, "Can't say as I have. Are you trying to discreetly find out what type she is?"

Sirius' eyes widened comically, in a way she'd never seen before, and he shook his head furiously.

Hermione looped an arm around his shoulders and stumbled out the door. "Com'mon, Padfoot, let's go! It's cooold outside…" She shivered as she went out the door, dragging him behind her. She felt his chest convulse from laughter, but decided to ignore it.

"Bye George!" she called back behind her. "Thanks for the- the- whisky!" She stumbled, and Sirius hurriedly threw an arm out in front of her to stop her fall as the door closed behind them.

She could swear George's figure inside had doubled over laughing. But her vision was getting a little blurry, so it might've been her imagination.

Another shiver took her, but there was a nice, warm person behind her, so she leaned backward and closed her eyes with a smile. A pleasant heat suffused her, and the thought hit her that maybe Sirius was one of those people that was always _warm_. Well that'd be a nice fit, wouldn't it?

"Hermione," he said in a choked voice, whether from laughter or something else she couldn't tell, "Be very, very thankful you will not remember this in the morning." He shook his head helplessly and slipped his arm around her, pulling her close as her shivers stopped.

She did stumble a bit, as they made their way to the grate, but Sirius called out the location of her house for her (had he learned it as a dog?) and the ticklish flames engulfed them.


	13. Of Scientific Effects

**Lost and Found**

**By Rurouni Star**

**Chapter 12 – Of Scientific Effects**

Sirius had long suspected that someone high up in the heavenly hierarchy had it in for him.

Now – now he _knew_ it.

Because he was currently sitting in front of a blazing fire with a beautiful, unattached woman draping herself across him happily and causing all sorts of interesting reactions with the cold from her hands seeping through the silk of his robes (Silk, why had he gotten _silk?_ Cotton would've done, damn it!).

Now, normally, he would've been absolutely thrilled at this.

But this was _Hermione._

And Hermione… Hermione was supposed to be fifteen. She was supposed to play chess and smile at him in that heartwarming way of hers, but under _no_ circumstances was she supposed to…

"You know, you're sorta handsome… must be that dratted beard…" She hiccupped yet again.

…flirt with him.

"Hermione," he said through gritted teeth, "You're _drunk._"

She giggled. "So what?" And she batted her eyelashes, quite becomingly if he did say so himself, and said in a low, secret voice, "You know, I used to have quite the crush on you, y'know."

He froze.

Oh. Dear. Lord.

"You are… _definitely_ drunk," he said. Because she'd just repeated herself again. And because honestly, how could someone develop a crush on _him_ when they'd seen him at his worst, hair ratty and matted, blood all over, an insane gleam in his eyes as he contemplated killing a rat-

"No really!" she protested, eyes unfocused. "You were- weren't really good at chess, but you _protected_ me!" His eyebrows raised. When- "From that evil, evil portrait!" she grinned.

Oh. Well.

"And…" She leaned back against him again, and he couldn't find the will to pull away, afraid she would stop talking. "And you really _cared_. Y'know?" She paused as though realizing she'd said too much. She turned her gaze away and her eyes focused on the flames, now, somewhat sad. They danced and shone, reflected in pools of brown that reminded him of the chocolate she so loved.

"M' not a mudblood…" she whispered.

His arm tightened on her.

"No," he said quietly. "No, you're most certainly not." Guilt overtook him. He shouldn't have been taking advantage of her like this, having her spill her secrets like candy. It wasn't _right._ There were… private things. Things no person should ever have to divulge. But-

"You always were too nice to me," she said with a smile. "Gave me butterflies, y'know?"

He felt a strange kind of warmth suffuse him, and he found himself wanting to say _Oh yes, I know…_

Instead, he found himself saying, quite inappropriately, "You killed Bellatrix?"

And her grin abruptly vanished.

"Who told you that?" she asked, her voice sharp and pained. And he found himself inordinately relieved that she wouldn't have to remember in the morning.

"Malfoy. Apparently, he's privy to a few secrets now that he's a teacher. Or maybe he just eavesdropped." He wished he didn't have to bring this up, but it was _important_ to him…

"Yeah, I did," she said, but her voice was trembling. "I- I used-" She twisted out of his grip, shaking, and stared at him. "I used _Avada Kedavra_."

He stared at her, amazed, because even though he'd heard it from Malfoy, it was a completely different matter listening to her _say_ it…

"She was making fun of me before!" she choked. "Telling me how she k-killed you and how she tortured Neville's parents and watched as they-" Her voice broke completely then. "I _hated_ her! I _still_ hate her!"

Sirius watched as tears of fury and pain dripped down her face, and he felt something inside him clench. Because no one could ever use dark magic and have it not leave a mark, a hideous scar on their soul. And Hermione had known that.

"I'm sorry," he rasped, instantly repentant that he'd brought it up, even though she'd forget. "I'm- I'm so sorry-"

"She didn't have the right," Hermione said, shaking, her hair falling messily into her face and covering haunted eyes. "She didn't- she took you away – and I never got to play you again- and she laughed, she _laughed_ and I hated her so much-"

He stretched a hand forward tentatively to grasp her shoulder. "I wish I could have stayed." _For you, I wish I could have. Not just for Harry and Ron, for you too-_

"I'm not an awful person," she whispered, something awful twisting her face, something he could feel and remember deep inside himself. "I'm _not_."

"You're not. You're one of the best people I've ever known." He pulled her forward gently, an invitation only. She resisted at first, but relented in a moment, letting herself fall against him and clasping him desperately to her as she missed him all over again.

He wondered in that moment whether it was _possible_ to forget that you had told something so awful, so soul-rending and personal. He hoped, in that same moment, that she would both forget and remember.

Sirius moved his hand to tangle in her hair comfortingly. "Those games meant the world to me," he told her as her body shook in his arms. The next phrase made it past his defenses, because he knew she would forget: "Having you there meant the world to me."

Hermione. Unforgivable. Perhaps, they gave those curses that name, not because casting them meant Azkaban, but because a good person couldn't ever forgive themselves for using one. No matter how well deserved.

She swallowed, wiping at her eyes. "You're sure?"

He smiled. "Yeah. You were – still are – an extraordinary person." _She didn't have to stay. She put herself out of her way for me so much…_

Hermione smiled, and he found himself quite suddenly captivated by it.

"They meant a lot to me too."

Her face fell a moment later, and he was wrenched from his fascination. Hermione bit her lip. "I'm not going to remember this, am I?" She said it in such a tired voice that he found he couldn't lie.

"No," Sirius told her with a pang. "You won't. But that means I can ask you what to get you for Christmas."

"Flowers," she whispered, "Stargazer lilies." And she tightened her arms around him. "Will you tell me this again in the morning, then? Not – not about-"

"Bellatrix," he murmured. "No, I won't do that. But I will – I will tell you some of the other things."

Her face took on a strange expression, then, and her smile reappeared.

Sirius felt her rise, but didn't quite understand it until her lips touched his, brushing them lightly. A jolt went through him from the minor contact and he let out a gasp. She moved, as though to pull away, but he found himself unwillingly pulling her closer again, his teeth closing on her bottom lip roughly, pulling something from her that he had just found he so desperately needed.

Hermione made a small humming sound in her throat and ran the tip of her tongue over his lips. He groaned – this was _not_ conducive to stopping whatever the hell she'd started.

Her mouth opened slightly, and he found himself taking advantage of the opportunity, his hand coming up to angle her head and allow him entrance. His tongue brushed hers, sending shivers through them both-

And he tasted firewhisky.

Sirius stopped abruptly, pulling away and swallowing. He didn't want to know how she could taste like firewhisky – it had been injected into her blood after all – but he was glad for the moment that she did. Because this was wrong, and it was taking advantage of circumstances and taking advantage of _her._

Hermione opened her eyes and blinked once before settling on frowning. "Why on earth did you-"

He didn't let her finish.

"I think it's time for bed, Hermione," he told her, then winced. He hadn't meant for his voice to sound that strained.

"What-"

"I'll talk to you in the morning."

She seemed to deflate at this – but stood up shortly (if a bit wobbly) and said, "Fine."

He had to hold himself back from calling her name, bringing her back. But he managed it, somehow, and Hermione disappeared into her room.

.

.

.

.

.

_Bellatrix Lestrange's cold eyes bored into hers, malicious amusement dancing in them._

_"Did you know he was always the dumb one in the family? Deserved what he got, him and his stupid godson-"_

_"SHUT UP!" Hermione screamed, straining desperately against the man that held her, lashing out where she could. But the woman in front of her wasn't fazed._

_"You should've **seen** his expression as he died, oh it was precious – lost and confused and still laughing as though he were alive, while he fell through the veil-"_

_An inarticulate sound escaped her, part a screech of rage and part of an indescribable grief. Neville watched her with a pale but oddly composed face from the other side of Bellatrix._

_Hermione had not, in fact, seen him die.___

_And Bellatrix knew it._

_"Just think, dear girl. You'll die by my hand too. You'll get to meet him up there and tell him what an awful job you did protecting your little friends…"_

_She hated her. Hated her with every fiber of her being, every nerve in her body, every breath she took. She had never hated anyone so very much, and it hurt with the weight of it. Her heart was tearing with it, and tears of frustration pricked at her eyes because she had no way to hurt her. She would scratch her eyes out, and kick her and dig her nails into her arm and **pull**-_

_"Go and take the boy to the master. He'll want to see him."_

_The woman in front of her never lifted her gaze from Hermione._

_"Want to kill me, do you?" she asked, eyes glittering._

_"Yes," Hermione gritted through her teeth. "You're evil."_

_Bellatrix's__ mouth widened into a pleased smile.__ "Maybe I should take my time with you…"_

_"Don't."_

_Snape's voice cut through her smile instantly. Bellatrix looked up at him angrily. "Who are you to tell me-"_

_"We don't have the time for you to play," the voice behind her sneered. "While our master may be invulnerable, need I remind you, **we** are not."_

_At this, Bellatrix's face soured, as though she'd sucked the juice out of a lemon. "Fine," she spat._

_And Hermione felt her teeth begin to hurt as she envisioned getting hold of her wand and wiping that sneer from the awful woman's face forever, and tried to ignore the pain in her heart, as though it had been savagely cut open with a dull knife-_

_A high, cold laugh came to her from a few feet away._

_"What's the matter, boy? Sad about your friends? Don't worry, you'll join them soon enough – I'll even let you duel me, feel like you've done something useful-" She watched and swallowed as the pale Tom Riddle's wand brushed gently across Neville's forehead; blood dripped from where it touched. "You wanted to be just like him, didn't you – everyone wanted to be like the Boy That Lived, to have that scar of excellence-"_

_Her mind numbed._

_No._

_Impossible.___

_Neville's eyes lit with a cold fire as he accepted his wand._

_And something cool and flexible slipped into the hand that had been pulled behind her back._

_Snape was whispering something furiously into her ear as she watched in a detached way, when Neville bowed curtly._

_One.___

_She had her weapon._

_Two.___

_Bellatrix wasn't looking._

_Three-_

**_Avada Kedavra._**__

_Bellatrix turned, a vaguely puzzled and ultimately ironic look of surprise on her face._

_There was a pulling, a jerking of the hatred within her, the all consuming fire and the memories of a troll and a storm and flaming red hair with hazel eyes- _

_Chess games and laughter and smiles, all for her and all gone, irrevocable- but she wanted him **back-**_

_The need for pain and death and terror and **vengeance** was forced through the length of wood, and a coldness chilled her limbs as she stared into a face, frozen, the same way they'd said his had been, for eternity._

_She still hated her._

_And she knew… it would never go away._

Hermione gasped, coming awake with a choked gasp. Her head throbbed, but it was nothing compared to the tear in her chest.

Something heavy held her down, and she thrashed desperately, trying to run and sob and hide from the monster she'd let herself become-

Someone was pulling her tightly to them, though, whispering reassurances in her ear and giving her something to hold on to.

She stopped, trembling, still stiff.

"Shhh," he told her. "It's okay, you're at home – it's _snowing_ you know-"

She laughed at the utter strangeness of the remark and let her face fall into the pillow beside his, inhaling deeply the scent she'd thought she'd forgotten. She felt herself go slack, and he breathed a sigh of relief in response.

What on earth had happened? She had been… she had been looking at George, in surprise… there had been a snake. The rest came back to her, up to the point where she'd voluntarily downed the firewhisky, and she inwardly groaned.

"I- I'll go make breakfast, thank you-"

Hermione tried to move, but he only tightened his grip on her. An incredulous laugh escaped her, but it was too shaky to matter.

They stayed like that for a few minutes, his warm breath on her neck, a few strands of black hair brushing her face. And she realized guiltily that he hadn't exactly had the best week either. So she relaxed for as long as he needed.

But then, just as he began to breathe easy again, something hit her.

"Sirius," she said. "What did I do last night?"

An uncomfortable pause. He had tensed again, but she somehow knew the question was important, had to be asked-

"The games, Hermione," he said quietly. "They were important."

Her brow knit. "What?"

Sirius swallowed, uncharacteristically unsure. "It seems like only about a week ago, you have to understand. You kept staying with me, even though we both knew you didn't have to. It meant more than you can know."

A blush spread through her body, warming her to her toes with a kind of giddy happiness. She'd known there was something about those times, of course, but to actually have him _tell_ her… her heart leapt at the thought that he might have cared just as much as she did. Which… it was improbable. She had cared a great deal. But it was a wonderful thought.

And, since he had told her, it suddenly seemed inexcusably wrong not to respond in kind. "It's been a long time, Sirius. But they meant – they still mean a lot to me," she told him, feeling awfully shy.

For a second, she thought he'd muttered something that sounded like _I know,_ but she must have been imagining it because he seemed inordinately pleased with her response. That still didn't explain what had happened last night, but-

"Did you say it was _snowing?"_ she asked, interest piqued.

Sirius smirked, hair tousled handsomely, and leaned back into the bed. "Thought you'd notice that at some point."

Hermione smiled back at him, no sarcasm included in it. "You, sir Padfoot, are about to get the worst beating of your life. Because I will have more time to build a snow fort."

With this, she dashed, and Sirius swore.


	14. Snow

**Lost and Found  
****By Rurouni Star**

http :www. deviantart. com/ view/ 8640973/

giggle I love this thing. I saw it and my mind immediately went "So long and thanks for all the whiskey!". Thanks for the fanart, Athene!

**Chapter 13 – Snow**

It was the strangest feeling. A lightness in his chest where he'd once felt so heavy he could barely walk. A little murmur in his heart that told him he could kiss her again, and maybe she'd kiss him back. But then, of course, the logistics of this idea got in the way. Hermione. Hermione was not- _could_ not be- someone like that to him. It was impossible. Just that week ago, he would never have thought that way-

_Or would he?_

He found a coat near the door, waiting – Hermione had enlarged it for him. His hand went to the stubble on his chin in a confusion he knew he shouldn't feel. Hermione had been fifteen. There was no way he would have… well, but the fact of the matter was that he was even now grinning like a madman, just at the thought that he'd been important to her. Was _still_ important to her. And that she was waiting outside.

Sirius opened the door cautiously.

He knew the moment he exited the door that he would be hit. It was one of those things you just _knew_, like when a storm was coming, or when a cat was getting ready to bite you. He, unfortunately, had experience with the latter.

Nevertheless, the wet wad of snow was thrown quite accurately – it impacted on his chest, sliding slowly down the coat she'd left out for him.

Sirius grinned.

Hermione laughed loudly from behind her solidly made fort and failed to catch the arced snowball that was tossed expertly over her defenses. Sirius moved immediately after the startled curse reached his ears, picking up some more ammunition as he rolled away (probably getting himself infinitely wetter in the process than a snowball would have made him… but it was the principle).

He heard the barrage of snow hit places where he'd been just moments before, and pulled himself up into a crouch, throwing his own weapon with the practice only a Marauder used to years of magical snow dueling could muster. Hermione let out a squeak of surprise as water leaked down her front – and one of her snowballs hit him in the back.

No.

Wait.

She wasn't behind him.

Sirius turned in surprise, but cursed as he realized there was nothing there.

The whisper carried over the air.

_"Accio snowball."_

A snicker as another one hit him in the face.

"Cheating!" he told her, not really irritated but putting up a good show of it. "I don't have a wand!"

Hermione only laughed harder. _"Wingardium Leviosa!"_ A whole drift of snow began to rise into the air – he was impressed, despite himself, because that spoke of an immense concentration-

_Whumf__!_

Snow. Flakes of snow all over him, dusting his hair, catching in his eyelashes.

Hermione stopped laughing and blinked.

He didn't wait to see why.

A screech of laughter assailed the mischievous Padfoot's senses as he bounded over the fort in one long stride, then took down his enemy, sitting heavily on her chest. Hermione lost her breath, gasping as she simultaneously tried to laugh and push him off.

After a few minutes of torturing the woman with her well deserved punishment, Sirius turned back – only to find that he was really not in a much better position than before.

Well.

If you were given the advantage-

"Surrender?" he whispered in her ear with a grin. Hermione jerked back from him involuntarily, swallowing and turning just the slightest bit pink. And for the moment, he forgot all about everything else, and he was back at Hogwarts again, using his wiles to make the girls lose their nerve in their annual girls versus boys snowball match. Sirius raised an eyebrow as though daring her to try something again, with him very clearly the dominant victor.

Her eyes looked into his searchingly, though. Looking for darkness, wondering where the spark of youth and bliss had come from, and trying to decide whether she liked it or not.

And he was back.

He knew his eyes had turned back into dark pools, now, refusing the light and wondering why he was rolling in the snow with a woman who had never been a part of their snowball fights-

Now, though, there was a determined set to Hermione's face.

"No."

He found himself flipped over, then, directly into the snow fort (which wasn't quite as tightly packed as would have been nice…) Hermione rose to her feet easily and kicked a bit more of the ruined pile of snow onto him.

"All talk, nothing to show," she told him with a chuckle.

Because, he realized, she _had_ liked it. Having him happy, and maybe having him lavish his attention on her as though she were a sixth year girl. In some ways… maybe they were both still that age.

Sirius tackled her.

.

.

.

.

.

Two slightly malformed snowmen and another snowball fight later, the two sat in the kitchen, toweled down and in some comfortable pj's. Hermione, of course, had gotten them both hot chocolate.

"You _do_ know we're likely to catch colds, yes?" Sirius asked humorously as he cupped the warm mug in his hands.

Hermione shrugged – and gave a sneeze. "A little late for that particular assumption, isn't it?" She sipped the whipped cream from the top of her drink, and he realized she was right.

Brunch was a matter of course, once they found they'd wasted away the morning playing in the snow and watching a blizzard whip itself into a frenzy. He caught Hermione in a moment of weakness as she used magic to make the meal prepare itself – but she insisted that it was because she didn't want to get sick by straying out of range of the fire.

He, personally, had no problem with her staying. Because he was beating her quite spectacularly at Monopoly.

"That's Boardwalk, Hermione, three hotels so far. Time to pay up."

She glared at him and counted her money out. "I still can't believe you picked up both dark blues…"

Sirius smiled to himself as she realized she didn't have enough money.

Hermione looked up at him sourly. "Well. Monopoly's a stupid game anyway…"

The snow kept falling.

.

.

.

.

.

"Checkmate."

Because, in the end, it really came down to chess.

Hermione smiled as Sirius' king shouted angrily at him – "I _told_ you to send in the bishop, but you _didn't listen!_ How do you ever expect to get anywhere when you're pushing your queen at every little-"

Sirius frowned and grabbed Hermione's wand before she could act. "_Silencio._"

She couldn't help but giggle at the miniature king's expression. It stopped its silent tirade to glare at her, and she mouthed an apology at it.

"Can you blame me, losing with these things all badgering me?" Sirius muttered. But he was avoiding her eyes, like he'd taken to doing throughout the day at the strangest times.

"Oh look who's talking," Hermione said sourly. "I thought I was doomed when my queen ran off with your knight."

Sirius shrugged. "Your fault, really. Shouldn't have been setting up your own soap opera while I worked on my next move."

She shot him a dirty look. "That was because you took half an hour on it!"

He ignored her and turned his gaze to the window, where the sun was setting on a town of white, throwing crimson and violet shadows across the landscape. The dancing light entranced him for a moment, and Hermione herself found she could barely glance away.

It had been so long since she'd simply _looked_ at the sunset. It was one of those things you could only enjoy with a friend.

Suddenly, Sirius rose from the fire and offered her his hand. Hermione blinked, but took it – and he drew her toward the back sliding glass door. She raised an eyebrow as he opened it, letting in the biting cold air.

"Um – playing in the snow is one thing, but we'll catch pneumonia if we go out at night in our pj's," she told him with a suspicious look.

Sirius shrugged. "I'll keep you warm," he told her – and she noted that his eyes had once more darted to the floor.

His suggestion was, of course, crazy.

So was her answer. "Okay."

What on earth had prompted her to say that?

Sirius seemed to regain his confidence at this, and he grinned at her in that rakishly handsome way of his before pulling her inside his heavy cotton robe and moving toward the ladder to the roof. After shunting aside some snow, they settled in to watch the stars begin to appear, slowly and hesitantly, as the sun disappeared below the horizon and into twilight.

Normally, Hermione would never have done something so reckless, but Sirius seemed to have that same effect on her that Harry and Ron once had. A certain disregard for rules – and, well, stupidity – seized her while she was near him. And, what was worse, she liked it.

She shivered as a stray wind teased its way across her chest, and Sirius slipped his arms around her, pulling her into him and closing the robe over both of them. She let him and even snuggled closer to the heat.

_It's funny, how he's always warm…_

Hermione frowned at the déjà vu that idea gave her, but pushed it away and curled her feet under the heavy cloth. It was no surprise that she was utterly comfortable around Sirius, even in the strangest of situations. He was… he was her friend. And sometimes, just sometimes, a little more.

_A confidant.__ A secret crush, at one time. Someone to always take my side, even if I'm wrong…to protect me…_

The last sent a little thrill through her, and she smiled to herself. Sirius, the knight in dark robes, sweeping in to swear at screaming paintings. What a funny thought, but, in some ways, how utterly true.

_Maybe_, she thought as she leaned into him even more, _Maybe__ my queen had the right idea… running away with the knight…_ The thought sent a little leap into her heart, and she was sure that, for once, she was warming up.

Sirius was uncharacteristically silent, but it was a comfortable kind of silence, the kind you didn't even try to fill with meaningless words. She knew he was at peace, up here beneath the sky that had so long been denied him. She looked up at him momentarily and was struck immediately by his wistful, unguarded expression.

"That one," he said, looking at a certain bright star in the sky. "That one's me."

Hermione followed his gaze to where she knew she would find Sirius, the dog star.

"Brightest of them all," she said with a wry smile. "But obviously, it never got to your head."

His arms tightened around her as he laughed. "Of course not." His laugh was one of the things she liked most about him, and she would never get sick of hearing it. Of the times when that haunted look left them, and he was happy.

She loved making him happy.

Connecting this realization back to her earlier years, she could now see why she so loved their chess games. Those times, too, he would smile.

All for her.

"I don't know, though," she told him, feeling the corners of her mouth turn up mischievously. "Canopus is looking rather healthy lately…"

Sirius scoffed. "Canopus hasn't got anything on me. It's pitiful."

Hermione found herself remembering, perhaps for the first time in her life, something she'd learned in divination. The only reason she'd bothered to pay attention, in fact, was because she'd heard the word "Sirius" and bolted upright in her seat, immediately non-drowsy and looking for information on the infamous convict that seemed to have it in for Harry.

_Sirius, the dog star, part of Canis Major – when born under this star's influence, one is expected to be rich, wealthy, well-connected. Natives of the star tend to be faithful to the extreme, and passionate when focused on an objective. However, they are also impetuous, and sometimes violent…_

Faithful, she'd thought then. Absolute rubbish. Sirius Black had betrayed Harry's parents. Divination, wrong again.

_When in the eighth house, it promises a heroic death, with honors beyond the grave…_

She should've paid attention better. She should have known, when the star was in the eighth house…

"What are you thinking about?" he asked her curiously. He'd apparently noticed that her face had gone strained.

"Meeting you for the first time," she said truthfully, and he seemed to deflate just a little.

"Oh come on, Hermione, that was in the past… well, I mean, it was only two years for me, but quite a bit for you-"

"No," she said absently. "I rather liked you when I met you. Not- not immediately, of course, but just a little later…"

Sirius was quiet for a moment. Then- "What on earth was there for you to like about me?"

And she didn't hesitate. "You were devoted. Even after- you know – you still did what was best for Harry and everyone else, you let him talk you out of killing Pettigrew-"

"A mistake," groused Sirius, suddenly very bitter. "Peter was the reason so many things happened…"

"No," Hermione reproved him immediately. "If he hadn't resurrected Voldemort, someone else would. Besides which, Dumbledore said something about a wizard's debt to Harry. We might not have been aware of it, but I'll bet he had to save his life back at some point."

Sirius sighed. "Aren't you always the voice of logic? You don't know how much I _hated_ him… twelve years of clinging to my sanity by remembering over and over the things he did and the different ways I could kill him…" Hermione found she really wanted to steer away from this subject. But as Sirius continued, she realized he needed it. And she did understand, even if he didn't know it.

_Bellatrix…_

The name sent shivers down her spine, and conjured a picture of a surprised, elegant, and _green tinged_ face.

Her hand came up to his and closed on it reflexively, drawing on that strong core of inner strength, the pillar of support he had constantly been for everyone but himself.

"Do you know," Sirius said quietly. "I still remember some times with him almost happily. We pulled off so many pranks with him… he even came up with a few himself…" There was a betrayed pain, an emotional nakedness in his voice that made her ache with him. "He couldn't always have been like that," he told her desperately. "He was Wormtail. He became an animagus for Remus, he helped us make the map, he- he even listened to me when I complained about my family. He always listened, and it's so strange to remember, but he never told secrets… even when you cried…"

Hermione felt her heart breaking as she imagined Harry or Ron doing something like that to her. Or worse, if _she_ had- but no. It hadn't happened, and if there was one thing she could be grateful for, it was that they'd died true to each other. Even as a tear slid down her cheek, biting at her skin in the cold night air, she felt a little of the weight on her heart leave her. And, at the same time, she felt a strange, subdued elation at the fact that Sirius was telling her something so close to his heart, sharing it and trusting that she would understand.

"Isn't it awful that he told the one secret we needed him to keep?" he whispered. And his hand clutched hers, slightly chilled despite the fact that it had always been warm before. He'd given all his heat to her.

"Tell me he's dead," he pleaded suddenly. "You caught him, didn't you?"

Hermione swallowed, and let her head fall back against his chest. "Yes. We found him – an Auror had killed him as a rat, because they knew the truth by then-" _A small rat, so tiny and so charred, it belied the fact that the man inside of it had wrought so much destruction, killed so many, destroyed so many lives… a front toe cut off, and that was the way they'd had to recognize it, because Tonks had been so vicious with her cousin's betrayer…_

"So it's over," Sirius sighed. "At least I don't have to worry about visiting him in Azkaban. I- I don't think I could manage that."

Hermione shook her head slowly, watching as a stray flake of snow drifted down from the sky. It had started to snow very lightly, a sprinkling of large, lazy flakes that glinted in the starlight. "From what you said," she told him, "he was dead long before that. The one you knew, that is."

Sirius contemplated this for a moment, then brought his hand up to brush some of the snow lightly from the top of her head. She shivered at his touch, gentle and almost affectionate.

"I suppose you're right," he said finally, the hand moving down to take hers again, touching her cheek for just a moment by accident as it went. Hermione shuddered again, and he seemed to take this as an admission of cold. "We should go in, before we catch pneumonia," he teased her in a deep voice, but she surprised him by putting her cheek to his chest and pulling the robe further around them. Then-

"Accio blanket," she whispered.

Something slipped through the crack she'd left in the door, and moved to settle expertly over them, still hot from being next to the fire. It warmed them both nicely and immediately.

Sirius grinned. "That'll work too," he said.

She looked up at him, staring seriously into his eyes. "I'll never tell your secrets either," she told him. "None of them."

He seemed surprised at this, and then, inordinately touched. And then, as he looked down at her, she saw a moment of indecision cross his face – he leaned down, and his fingers came up to brush her face. Tingles shot through her skin from the light pressure of his fingertips…

Sirius pulled back. "You… had an eyelash," he told her uncomfortably, looking away. She realized she'd forgotten to breathe, and hurriedly took in a breath of cool air.

"Thank you," he said a moment later. "For- for everything."

Hermione decided not to ask what was troubling him. There'd been quite enough soul-baring already that night.

Instead, she leaned closer to him and let her eyes focus on the single, most brilliant point of light in the sky.

"You're welcome."


	15. Mistletoe

**Lost and Found**

**By Rurouni Star**

**Chapter 14 – Mistletoe**

Two days until Christmas.

Hermione realized this as she watched him whisk the dishes clean with her wand.

She'd have to begin her shopping in earnest if she wanted to get anything done at all. Because she'd have to get presents for the Weasleys and for Lupin and, of course, Sirius. The amusing thought struck her that maybe she should get Malfoy something, just for the pleasure of knowing he'd be floored. And… well, she wasn't all that certain who got him presents for Christmas. Everyone deserved something, it would be rude not to. Yes, she'd get him something small. Too bad she wouldn't be able to see his face as he checked it for hexes…

The fact remained, however, that she was going to have to actually go out to get these things.

"Sirius," she said as he finished banishing the dishes to their respective cupboards, "I'm going to have to go out today, I think. Do you think you could manage for a bit on your own?"

He chuckled. "Someone's got a low opinion of me. Think I'm going to start a fire or something?"

Hermione pretended to size him up. "Hmm… I don't know. Maybe it would be safe _if_ I took my wand with me…"

Sirius frowned and flicked it to her. "Yes, well, I'll just have to make do with some matches then." He winked at her as she left, and she felt her heart do a little flip.

_Damn… crush is back, I suppose, _she thought unhappily as she went to the fire and got a handful of floo powder. _I thought I'd quashed it…_

_Stupid hormones._

"Diagon Alley," Hermione said clearly, throwing the powder down.

"Come back soon, dear!" came his singsong voice through the floo.

Hermione wondered momentarily whether it might be worth it to go back and clobber him. Then decided she was blushing too much and that she'd pretend she hadn't heard him at all.

Being spit out into the alley, she dusted herself off, shivering at the bitter winter air, and sighed at the large crowd before her. Unfortunate. But then, Christmas was just around the corner…

Hermione rolled up her sleeves and plunged in. Elbows hit her, people swore, pets hissed, feet were stepped on… a ginger haired witch tsked at her as she wedged her way through her and another man, while the brown-haired man looked her over appraisingly. She blinked, unused to such treatment, and immediately continued on before he could ask for the equivalent of her wizarding number (she'd never been asked before, but she was sure there was something to that effect).

By the time she'd reached her destination, Hermione felt bruises appearing in her sides. She rubbed at them unhappily, but squeezed into the small building without a problem – no one was really very keen to go there, anyway, as it wasn't a shop.

She smiled as she looked around the dusty office. The secretary seemed to be out – no surprise there – but she was very sure she would find the person she was looking for here…

.

.

.

.

.

Her business didn't take long to finish, but she was sure that when she left she was positively glowing. Success had always done that to her – and this was one of the first things she'd succeeded in that really meant anything at all in a very long time.

Going back into the crowd sent a shiver of trepidation through her, but Hermione ignored it and made her way to another shop, to get Lupin a set of nice dress robes – she was quite sure that he wouldn't have bought any for himself in a while, and while Arthur Weasley's revisions to the laws that discriminated against magical creatures helped things quite a bit, werewolves would always have a stigma on them no matter what the law claimed. Hermione hadn't heard from him for a while, but she was fairly certain it would still be hard for him to get a job.

She bit her lip as she thought of the time she'd asked him to live with her. His look had said it all… _I'm not a pity case, I'm an adult, and you of all people should know that._ But really, _he_ should have known that she'd wanted him to stay for her own selfish reasons. Because Lupin, being the ultimately calm and gentle person he was, could break her from her habits of grieving while he was there.

Much like Sirius.

But where Lupin had been an older role model, Sirius was stirring up her life simply because he _wasn't_ like that. He was… her age, strangely. And he was impulsive and brash and he did things because they felt good. In short, everything she wasn't, but had always wished she could be.

Hermione frowned as she shoved her way into a shop to the side – Flourish and Blotts, it looked like. Books were strewn all over – stacks rose from table to ceiling, and stairs from one side ran up to another floor which held even more. All in all, this had to be her favorite store.

Thoughts of Lupin also brought thoughts of the inevitable, though. Sirius would be wanting to see his best friend – he would be wanting to get somewhere to live on his own. Because, while he was not like Lupin in many respects, he was the kind of person to want his privacy and his own life. And who wouldn't?

That particular thought troubled her much, much more than she wanted to admit to herself. And the fact remained that she felt guilty every time she thought of Lupin – he would want to know, and she kept telling herself she would tell him, but something always seemed to get in the way…

Hermione banished this thought to be picked through later as she picked up a few things – Quidditch books, mostly, for one could never go wrong with those when shopping for the Weasleys. Another book went on top of the stack for Sirius, and she smiled at the thought of seeing his face as he read the title. Then, her eye caught on one of the other books…

Bound in green leather, a dull golden cord wrapped loosely about it. It had no title…

Hermione picked it up curiously and unwrapped it, opening it to the first page.

Blank.

She frowned, then turned the page. Nothing. And more nothing. What-

Oh. It must have been a journal.

Hermione chewed on her bottom lip for a moment before tossing it, too, on top of the pile. She wasn't sure why she should want it – she'd never kept a journal in her life, unless her homework planner counted. As she took it unobtrusively to the front, however, the cashier, an older man with graying hair and a lined face, looked at it in surprise.

"I think you've accidentally put your own book up here," he told her, handing it back to her.

She blinked. "Oh no- I found this in the shop. I was going to buy it."

The cashier shook his head. "We don't stock journals, miss. Perhaps someone left it here-?"

"But there's nothing written in it yet," she told him. "Are you certain this isn't from your shop?"

The man looked affronted. "Of course I'm sure! Keep it if you want, but I'm telling you that I've never seen it in my life!"

She assured him that she understood, of course, but once she was out of the shop, Hermione had to stop and stare at the book.

No name, no writing. Why would it be in the shop if not to be bought?

Hermione shook her head and put it into her bag, determined to enjoy herself regardless. She still had robes to pick up, and just maybe she could buy herself something nice to wear while she was at it…

.

.

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.

.

Coming home was a revelation.

Because, as she came in through the floo, she found that there were two people in her house, and not one.

"I don't know, do you think this one-"

"No, that one seems a bit large, I think it would fall off of the top."

"I'm sure I could find _some_ way to get it to stay on…"

Hermione groaned and tried to quietly slink down the hall to her room. There was no way she was going to put up with this _now_. She was tired and she had packages to wrap.

The question remained – why was Prott in her house?

With a sigh to herself, Hermione flicked her wand and ordered the packages wrapped, absently pulling the new journal from the bag before it could wrap itself as well. She flipped through it for a bit before pulling out one of her new quills and popping the stopper from one of her ink bottles. Setting it open on the desk, Hermione dipped the quill in the dark green ink, trying to think of what she'd write in a journal.

Not one to mince words, even with an inanimate object, she scratched the date and began:

_Christmas is coming soon – I'm not sure if I got everyone the right presents, but I did my best. The Weasleys should be getting theirs soon, since I sent them out by the public post. I even got Bill and Charlie something, though my knowledge regarding their interests is sketchy, at best. _

Nothing else came to her immediately, so she blew gently on the ink, then closed the book and bound it again with the cord.

The voices in the living room had quieted down, so she figured it would be safe to go out again.

Hermione snuck from her room, then looked into the room.

Sirius was sitting below a very large Christmas tree (decorated in red and gold, naturally) holding a very large tree star in his hand and staring at the window. Hermione felt something inside her leap happily as she saw the house. Candles burned quietly on each flat surface, red and green – a fire burned merrily in the hearth and she was surprised to see at least three presents set beneath the tree. The chess board had been set up again, and the pieces seemed to be standing strangely still, though a few fidgeted every once in a while.

"You guys can move again, he's gone," Sirius told them with a twitch of a smile.

They immediately deflated, rolling shoulders and cracking necks, getting comfortable again.

He leant back against the wall, putting his hands behind his head and relaxing for the moment. A gentle smile appeared on her face as she saw him so unconcerned – for just a moment, she found she could imagine, with their surroundings, that they were really in the Gryffindor common room. That he and she were really just normal students and that things had all turned out as they were meant to.

Then, she noticed that he'd undone his tie, that it was hanging loosely around his neck, and that the top few buttons on his shirt were undone.

A furious blush rose on her cheeks as she thought of a few things she certainly would never have imagined in her sixth year…

Sirius fidgeted with the star a bit, squinting as he held it up to see how it would look on top of the tree.

Hermione couldn't help it. She giggled.

His head snapped around immediately – and he choked as he saw her.

Sirius tried to leap to his feet and subsequently failed, slipping and falling before he could make it to any sort of dignified position, then fumbling madly with his shirt and tie.

Hermione had to keep laughing, helpless.

He sighed, letting the tie go and apparently citing it as a hopeless cause.

"Well!" he said cheerily. "Welcome back. Like it?"

She was still laughing. In fact, she had to fall to the couch to continue to do so.

Sirius threw his arms into the air. "Well. Now that I've made a complete fool of myself." But he was winking at her. "At least I'm good for a laugh, then."

She felt something inexplicably giddy overcome her at the warm look he gave her, all unfortunate thoughts fleeing her at his smile. "Yes," she said. "You certainly are." And rose to her feet, looking around. "It's…" _Amazing. Wonderful. **You're** wonderful._ "I can't even begin!" she said happily. _No one has **ever** done something like this for me. And I know he must be bored, but still-!_

Sirius seemed very much pleased at her reaction. "Wonderful," he said. He was looking at her with the expression of rapture one can only attain after giving a gift and receiving unadulterated happiness in return.

.

.

.

.

.

It hadn't taken too much work, really. And the fellow, Prott – he'd helped a great deal. Sirius had to admit that without him, he wouldn't have been able to get her his other surprise…

"Well," he said, trying to sound as though she hadn't just made his heart want to burst with pride. "I did want to ask if I could borrow your wand for a bit of work." Hermione didn't seem in any mood to refuse such a little thing, and she handed it to him. The moment her hand touched his, he felt the oddest urge to grab it and kiss it, and maybe to kiss her as well. Yes, a nice long kiss. And maybe-

"Sirius?" she asked him, stifling the remainder of her giggles.

He coughed. "Oh, yes. Well – watch!"

Sirius moved the wand in an arc, taking the star from the floor and sending it to the top of the tree – where it hung, absolutely still, without so much as bending the top branch.

Hermione's smile was brilliant. He was sure her face must be aching from joy.

Sirius handed her wand back to her, then walked to her, putting a hand over her eyes. "Just wait and keep your eyes closed," he told her. "Best is yet to come."

She laughed again, and put her own hand over his, pulling it off. "I've got my eyes closed, I swear," she told him. "Go ahead."

He went quickly to the kitchen, pulling the confections Prott had helped him with out of the refrigerator and setting them on the coffee table. He grinned to himself as he took one from the pile – and touched it to her mouth.

"What-" Hermione opened her eyes incredulously – then saw the chocolate strawberry.

Her eyes lit up.

"You're _amazing_," she told him, speechless. "I _love_ you."

It was said in the way one friend talks to another when that friend has just bought them chocolate strawberries, but he treasured it all the same.

"How did you manage-"

"Prott," Sirius answered. "He brought over the strawberries and the decorations – you can't honestly believe I have the know-how to make those things."

She laughed. "No, I don't suppose you do. But it's all wonderful!" And then, she did something he _certainly_ hadn't been expecting – she threw her arms around him, hugging him tightly and enthusiastically. He staggered, but managed to hug her back, reveling in the smell of her hair, the way his arms fit into her so perfectly, and the way he could _feel_ the joy radiating off of her.

Sirius could have groaned.

He'd discovered something, quite suddenly, and it was so _impossible_ that he wanted to delight in it and drown in it and push it away incredulously all at the same time.

He was _in love._

And, what was so much better (or worse, depending on your view), her eyes were dancing and alive and looking at him as though he had just informed her she'd won one of those muggle contests for a million pounds or Euros or whatever they were using these days.

And then – Hermione blinked and looked up, to the tree they were currently standing below.

Her eyes focused on something on a certain branch… and a helpless chuckle shook her tiny frame.

"Was that Prott's idea too?" she asked him, holding up one hand to point to a small branch of leaves and berries that had been used to decorate the tree. At first, Sirius was slightly annoyed at the fact that she had let go of him at all – but then he realized the significance of the decoration and decided it really wasn't so bad after all.

Sirius paused. Then looked back at her and shrugged. "Yes," he told her, and grinned wickedly. "Doesn't mean I can't take advantage of it, does it?"

At her gasp of indignant laughter, he slid his hand up behind her head and pulled her in quickly, perhaps a little more desperately than he'd intended, sealing her lips against his sharply. And this time, it was him drawing the tip of his tongue through the slight indentation where her lips met, and it was her that was gasping in surprise and delight. He nipped at her bottom lip briefly, and took complete advantage.

Bliss.

Pure bliss.

And she was… she was responding. Almost shyly touching her tongue to his, sending shudders of pleasure through him as he gripped her closer, wanting her to say it again, but wanting her to mean it this time. And it would be so easy, just three words and he knew his heart would burst.

But, of course, she was currently otherwise occupied.

The kiss went on – his head twisted almost of its own accord, deepening it and lengthening it, making it ever better. Hermione, for her part, certainly didn't seem to mind as she became just a little more bold, biting down gently on his top lip and drawing her teeth down pleasurably. Something that sounded suspiciously like a growl escaped him, and he realized that air was, at some point, going to be a necessity.

Only then, with a willpower that had to be the stuff of legend, did he break away, breathing hard.

Hermione's eyes were still closed, her face flushed delightfully, her lips bruised just a little, and her hair wonderfully tussled. She swallowed and opened her eyes to look up at him, and her irises sparkled happily.

"That," she managed, "was some Christmas kiss. Especially considering we've still got a day before Christmas Eve."

A little pang of disappointment went through him, but hell, he'd take what he could get.

Sirius forced a laugh, and found it wasn't nearly as hard as he'd thought, especially as he'd just finished a wonderful liplock that he knew he would remember for years to come. "Somehow," he told her, letting her go reluctantly, "I doubt that anyone will ever be able to top that."

And she- she tweaked his nose.

"No, they most certainly won't," she told him with a little giddy laugh. "But I'm still going to have to pretend to be mad at him."

Sirius sat down and watched as she took a long, lingering bite of one of the chocolate strawberries and found himself unconsciously licking his lips.

Mmh.

He hoped Prott had hidden more mistletoe somewhere around here. If not, he might have to steal that wand and summon some.

"Hey!" squeaked one of the chessmen. "Are we playing or not?"

Hermione put a hand over her mouth to stifle her laugh. "Yes, I suppose we are."

Sirius immediately brightened. Because bets were fair game in chess. And he _knew_ what he was going to be trying for.

And now, he had more incentive to win than ever before.


	16. The Quibbler

**Lost and Found**

**By Rurouni Star**

**Chapter 15 – The Quibbler**

After the initial delirious happiness wore off, things became slightly more uncomfortable. Actually, they were _very_ uncomfortable. The first and only chess game they managed to play was in complete silence, to their chessmen's confusion. Any and all bantering they might have thought of was stifled by the situation.

At some point, when they realized the clock said three am, they decided unanimously to continue in the morning. Hermione gave him a slightly jittery smile as she went to bed, and he felt his heart thud so loudly that he hoped she couldn't hear it. He'd screwed up.

So he settled down on the couch and _tried_ so desperately not to remember how soft and inviting she'd felt and how much he really wanted to just knock on her door and ask, _So, if you're feeling up to another quick snog-_

Sirius groaned and buried his face in the pillow. He was just not getting anywhere with this ignoring thing. It had started so easily – make Hermione happy, make himself happy, things get better. He hadn't expected to suddenly want to do it for the rest of his life.

_Rest of my life.__ Sounds good. Why not?_

_Because she's **Hermione.**___

_Good lord, I just snogged Hermione._

His thoughts paused for a moment, to examine this novel concept.

_Yes. Yes I did. And I **liked** it. And I very much want to do it again. Many times._

There was just one big problem with this: Hermione was going to avoid him like the plague after this. The tension between them could have been cut with a knife. He really didn't blame her, now that he looked back on his idiotic kiss. Just one more example of rushing into things, Padfoot old boy. Still haven't learned your lesson.

Sirius muttered a few aimless curse words before stuffing his face angrily into his pillow.

.

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.

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Hmm.

Hermione couldn't sleep.

That had been-

What? What had it been?

Nirvana came to mind. And then, if you wanted to go slightly less eastern, heaven.

And while part of her had wildly suggested in that moment that she tell him quite calmly he didn't have to sleep on the couch anymore with talent like that, the nice rational side of her had screamed in denial. No, Hermione, you are not that stupid. No, Hermione, you are not in love. And neither is he – you just wish he was.

She sighed and fluffed her pillow again.

He really had been warm. No doubts about that anymore.

Her fingers brushed her lips, and she reveled in the slight pain it caused. He'd really done a number on them. But she could honestly say it was the most pleasing bruise she'd ever received. She'd do it again. And again and again, if he'd let her.

But Sirius was… well, he was Sirius. Hermione could easily see him as the kind of person that gave that kind of kiss to a friend. In fact, she was quite certain that had been what it was. So getting her hopes up for another one of those was pretty much setting herself up for defeat. Besides which, he was probably already regretting the first kiss he'd given her – his stiff posture had all but screamed that he wasn't too happy.

With a self-disgusted moan, she let her head fall against her pillow and closed her eyes. Because she had never been the falling in love kind of person; she had been a rational girl, and then, a rational woman. No love at first sight, thank you, no romantic dates, no flowers, no chocolates. And the first time she'd decided to go ahead and do it, the person she'd chosen was not the best one to pick. He was _completely_ different than she was, he was inconsistent, he was going to _leave_ eventually, and, though this was perhaps not as disturbing as it ought to have been, she had known him when she was fifteen.

No, this was obviously a crush. Surging hormones, making up for lost time, melting at the first real kiss she'd received. If she rode out the wave, she could save both of them quite a bit of embarrassment and then get on with her life. Hopefully for real, this time.

That settled, she went to sleep. Then, realizing that it wasn't working, she opened her journal.

Looking back over her last entry, she decided it really wasn't going to do.

_I think I'm in love. Hopefully, this will pass…_

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.

They were, of course, trying vainly to resolve their discontinued game (which, surprisingly, Sirius was winning) when the owl came.

It soared gracefully to the sill of the window, then settled before it, pecking in a dignified way, as if it were only knocking like any civilized person would do.

Hermione rose, slightly puzzled, until she came to realize where the tapping noise was coming from. She opened the window with a little shiver, letting the owl climb onto her arm.

And then, her eyes widened and she felt the blood drain from her face.

This very dignified and somewhat silvered owl was from someone she knew.

It was from Lupin.

With shaking hands, she closed the window and pulled the small bundle from the owl's talons, letting it nip her affectionately on the finger as it recognized her as an old friend.

Hermione closed her eyes slowly as she saw the magazine, and the headline. This was not good. In fact, she really ought to sit down if she thought about it.

"Hermione?" came Sirius' surprised voice. "Is something wrong?"

Hermione tried to turn back to the table, but stumbled on her way as her vision swam.

She should have expected this. She should have _expected_ it.

"Hermione!"

He was holding her up now, helping her to a chair. "What on earth-"

She set the magazine down on the table, then let her head thud against it unhappily. Eventually, she would wake up, and things would be better. Really, really they would.

Sirius was looking at her quizzically, she was sure. But she heard the rustling of paper as he looked at it himself.

Then he swore.

"Bloody _hell._"

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**Sirius Black – Dead or Alive?******

**By Maya James**

_For about nineteen years, the public has lived under the impression that Sirius Black, former convict of Azkaban and now-pardoned war hero, was dead. This information was reinforced by Headmaster Albus Dumbledore's confirmation of his death at the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange, Deatheater and cousin to the victim. Many of his closest friends, including the Boy-Who-Lived, Harry Potter, mourned quite openly for him, leading to the discovery of information pertaining to his unlawful arrest and jailing without trial._

_However, with certain evidence now come to light, we must ask ourselves:_

_Is Sirius Black truly dead?_

_Has he, in fact, **ever** been dead?_

_Glinda__ Gladrags says no. In fact, she says, she saw him just a few days ago, and even sold him some robes. "Charming man," she says with a smile. "He was looking quite healthy for a dead man, I must say. In fact, he didn't look like he'd even aged at all!" _

_From a few pictures, provided us by trusted sources, this seems to be true, unlikely as it sounds. Sirius Black has not, in point of fact, aged at all. However, his companion for the moment, a Miss Hermione Granger, seems to have aged quite normally, and the two are, from rather obvious hints in our picture, having romantic interaction. This seems to imply that not only has Sirius Black been alive for years, he must have somehow come into possession of the supposedly destroyed Philosopher's Stone…_ **(continued on page 22).**

Sirius turned to the picture, wondering for the moment what he would see and whether he wanted to see it.

Thankfully, the picture was only of a hiccupping Hermione, leaning into his shoulder and giggling. However – he _did_ very much want to know who had taken such a picture and why they would have sent it to a magazine such as the Quibbler.

"I feel like an idiot," Hermione muttered. "Poor Remus, finding out like this… I should have _told_ him…"

With a blink, Sirius looked at the owl, who was also gazing at him unblinkingly.

He began to roll up the magazine again and get ready to straighten things out, when a small, folded note fell out of the center.

_Hermione,_ it began. _I'm afraid Luna has gotten a few interesting ideas about you. While I tried to dissuade her, she is quite adamant about the fact that a trusted reporter had brought her 'reliable' information about old Padfoot suddenly alive and dating you. I did want you to be aware of such happenings, so I forwarded the magazine to you. Your address is still legally unlisted by the Ministry, I assume, so there shouldn't be too much trouble. If, however, a few owls get through, please let me know so that I can renew the enchantment on your home that keeps unknown pests away._

_Yours truly,_

_Remus J. Lupin_

Sirius swallowed.

No.

That was-

He knew what it was. It was a very important test of his willpower.

At first, he'd been ecstatic to hear that he might see his old friend, relieved that he was alive. But as time went on, while he was still quite happy to hear that Moony had survived the war… something uncomfortable had wormed its way into his thoughts. A feeling that he wasn't quite ready, and sometimes, that he never would be ready. For a very simple and very important reason, of course.

Moony was now almost twenty years older than he.

Hermione made a small sound from beneath her arms that sounded suspiciously like a sob. He found himself torn between wanting to ask what was wrong and never finding out.

"Hermione," he started in a shaking voice, intent on apologizing for his cowardly behavior, for making this happen-

"I'm sorry," she interrupted with a choked voice. "I should have let him know. I'm so sorry – I know you wanted to see him, I don't know why I didn't-"

"What are you saying?" he asked her in surprise.

And she blinked, looking up at him with red-rimmed eyes. "But I thought-"

"This is my fault," he told her, a little surprise still evident in his voice. "I was – I was putting it off, I didn't mean to cause this…"

A very profound relief entered her face, but it was quickly erased by a new unhappiness.

"I think we need to pay him a visit," she said. "In- in fact, I'll bring his present."

Sirius put a hand on her arm, rubbing it comfortingly. "That sounds like a good idea."

.

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.

.

Surprisingly, the destination that the owl's return address led them to was somewhere they'd been mere miles from before. Somewhere all-too-familiar that made them wonder how they could have missed it.

Because Remus Lupin would, of course, be teaching at Hogwarts.

They were let in immediately by the doors, but most of the students were gone for the break, and so they encountered very few people along the way. Those students that did see them didn't take too much notice – after all, none of them knew who they were, none of them had been alive…

He'd thought that knocking on that door was the hardest thing he'd ever had to do.

As soon as he got up the courage to do it, though, Sirius discovered that _waiting_ at that door was the hardest thing he'd ever had to do.

_He'll be older. Wiser than me. No more Moony, no more pranks, he's probably all grown up-_

_What will he think? That I left him of my own accord, that I purposefully didn't come to see him – well, that's true, but not in the way he'd think- well, actually, exactly in the way he thinks, but will he **understand**-_

And then, it opened, and everything was suddenly fine again.

Because a tired, and somewhat older, but completely the _same_ Remus Lupin was staring at him with shock and a slowly appearing incredulous joy.

The next moment, the threshold had been breached, and he was being hugged, squeezed, until he thought something might cave.

"Moony," Sirius gasped. "I- I appreciate the sympathies-"

"Yes, of course," Lupin breathed, loosening his hold. "But- you're- _how?_"

"I- you know, actually – I don't know."

Hermione, behind him, was trying to bugger out. He knew she'd try it, though, so he jerked his head backward. Lupin was soon hugging her too, spinning her with a laugh that seemed to make the years melt away in a way nothing else could have.

"How did you do it?" he asked her. "How is it possible?"

Hermione was smiling now, tearfully. "I don't know either. But you're not angry?"

Lupin laughed again. "How could I be angry? He's back, Hermione, that's all that matters!"

And they were being pulled inside his room, and he was pouring them tea, just like old times, and everything was all right again.

"Oh!" Hermione said after the obligatory moment of silence, and she put down her cup. "I have your Christmas present with me, I almost forgot."

She pulled the package from her cloak and set it down on the table, but Lupin picked it up and put it on the bed in the corner. "I'll put it under the tree in the Great Hall," he told her with a smile. "Best to save some surprises for Christmas."

She seemed to be smiling back in a way that hinted at a long friendship and a longer tradition. "I think I've missed you," she told him happily, even as a familiar pug-nosed, four legged creature slunk its way around her ankles, purring loudly. Hermione gasped in delight, scooping up her old pet and snuggling it in a way that made Sirius seriously question whether he ought to have been a cat Animagus.

Lupin turned severe at this. "I should hope so. I haven't seen you in at least three years."

And at this, she deflated, and Sirius began to understand just a little of what had changed.

"You've aged gracefully," he found himself saying suddenly, examining his old friend with surprise. "Very much so."

The Moony he had known was still there. He was still almost the same. Perhaps a bit more grey in his hair, and the lines around his mouth were more pronounced, but he was still the same.

Lupin smiled, but the smile had a slight bitter twist to it. "Yes, well. Unpredictable aging comes along with the whole condition. I suppose it was easier to notice when it decided to speed up, but it seems to have been trying to make up for lost time recently."

Sirius grinned. "So the grey hairs are from your students instead? What are you teaching, in any case? I thought Snape had the Dark Arts job."

His old friend gestured toward a bookcase at the back, and a book came sailing into his hand. In response to the question, he handed it to Sirius.

The other man's brow furrowed for a moment – and he laughed. Hermione looked over at the title curiously.

_Basic Care for Magical Creatures_

_By Rubeus Hagrid_

"I'm afraid I've had to supplement the sections on tender loving care with more substantial stuff, but most of it is surprisingly useful," he said with a wink.

Hermione stared at him, blinking, as she stroked Crookshanks absently. "But – Hagrid-"

"Is currently in Romania with Charlie Weasley, raising dragons like he's always wanted to."

Her mouth drew into a full smile. "Good for him. He deserves it."

Lupin looked significantly at Sirius for a moment, though, and he understood.

"Hermione?" he said quietly. "Could I have a moment to talk with old Moony?"

She shrugged. "I don't see why not. Go ahead and let me know when you two are done telling embarrassing stories about me, please?" She said it offhandedly, but he had a feeling she was feeling more than she was letting on. It was disconcerting, knowing she was feeling something else, but not being able to identify what. Crookshanks hopped off her lap just before she rose, scooting toward Lupin's bed and hopping onto it to curl into a purring ball of ginger fur.

Sirius had opened his mouth to ask her what was wrong, but she had closed the door the next moment, and he had to turn back to Lupin for the present.

"She looks better," his friend observed quietly. "Still a little jittery, but that's to be expected."

Sirius cast his gaze to the floor uneasily. Jittery was… a mild way to put it. She was terrified around him, and he knew why.

"So – dating, Sirius?" Lupin said it with a slight upward tilt to his mouth.

"No!" he said, perhaps a bit too quickly. "Why would you even _consider_ anything coming out of the Quibbler-"

"I was joking, Padfoot," he said with a frown. "You seem pretty jittery too, come to think of it. Well – go ahead. Tell me everything I've missed."

Sirius swallowed, looking up at him again. "Shouldn't I be asking that question?" he said slowly.

Lupin shrugged. "Fair enough. I _am_ expecting a full report on your current activities afterward, though – there's something big you're not telling me."

"You're much too perceptive for your own good," Sirius grumbled.

His old friend shrugged self-deprecatingly, but there was humor in his eyes. "My life's been much as you would expect. Not too many improvements in the job department for a while, but I made do with what I could find. Recently, Dumbledore called me back to teach again – Hagrid specifically requested me, I'm told. By his words, the animals are all incredibly tame around me." His mouth twisted into a grin. "I have my suspicions about this, of course – it's probably because they don't want to be turned into prey." Sirius laughed with him, feeling a little better.

"In the way of significant events…" Lupin's eyes darkened. "Has she told you about the war?"

Sirius frowned broadly. "Yes," he said shortly.

That was all that needed to be said on that subject.

"Very well then," Lupin sighed, combing a hand through his hair. "Afterward, Hermione and I kept up a small correspondence. It wasn't comfortable, by any definition of the word, but I was apparently the only one she bothered to keep in touch with. I visited her a few times, and she even asked me to live with her once, but I was too blind. By the time I realized she'd needed company, I'd refused her outright, and there wasn't another opportunity. Besides, she would have taken it as pity."

Sirius drew his teeth over his bottom lip nervously. "You left out the, ah, incident. Year after."

Lupin looked at him strangely. "She told you?"

He wanted to say yes. He wanted to get the full story and the full details, as awful as they might be. But instead, he found himself being altogether too honest, as he'd always been around the calmest in their group. "No," Sirius admitted. "The storekeeper told me."

Understanding lit Lupin's eyes, then, through the shadow that had fallen over them. "Yes, I'd forgotten about him. She wasn't happy, I suppose."

"No," Sirius said darkly. "She wasn't."

Lupin passed a hand in front of his eyes wearily. "Then you'd best know the whole story. I can only tell you my side, but I hope it's enough – it's bad enough she has to remember it occasionally."

Sirius managed to stifle the urge to tell him he'd already asked her. He wasn't honest enough to want to see the look of disappointment that would enter old Moony's eyes. "Go ahead," he sighed, leaning back.

Lupin composed himself admirably, considering his role. He drew his fondly worn robes about him quietly, something in him changing as his mind traveled back sixteen years.

"I was at Hogwarts during that time – the Order was tying up loose ends, bringing in the last of Voldemort's supporters that we could catch. Hermione had already secluded herself by then. She wanted nothing more to do with us, I'm afraid, and I can't really blame her. She was altogether too close to the end as it happened. But when I got the tip off that a few Deatheaters had somehow found the residence of Harry Potter's closest remaining friend… I could only get hold of Fletcher in time. I had to leave a note for the others, and we apparated as soon as we could. By that time…"

A shudder wracked his body, and a cloud passed over his face. "She was _pale._ Utterly still, like she was dead, and I- I thought she was." Tired eyes looked into his, making sure that he understood. "All that was missing was the green tint, and I didn't think to question it, because there are plenty of other ways to die."

Something inside Sirius convulsed at this statement, but he forced himself to stay silent and listen. This was his penance, his punishment for not being there.

"I remember crying – Fletcher had gone off in pursuit of the Deatheaters, and I've never seen him so focused before – but I couldn't tear myself away from her. Then that old muggle, bless him, he'd seen lights going on up there as we used magic, trying to find them. He pulled me off her and started some kind of rescue procedure. I can't even begin to say how wretched I felt when I saw he'd managed what I couldn't. He wanted to take her to the hospital, but I knew she wouldn't want him to and that I'd be able to help her more. I told him I'd do it." The lines on his face were now just a little more prominent.

"Fletcher came back soon, said he'd lost their trail. I could tell he'd wanted to kill them – but he helped me get the emergency potions from headquarters, and we fixed her ribs best we could. I stayed with her and made sure to enchant her house like we should have in the first place, making it impossible to find by owls that haven't been there before. And then," Lupin's eyes suddenly gleamed a dull amber, "I went after them. Did she tell you?"

"Yes," Sirius responded. "I told her it was what I would have done."

"You know," Lupin said quietly. "Even under the influence of the Wolfsbane, I can't remember what I've done when I wake up. I keep my human emotions, and I think like I would, but I can't remember when I wake up. But I _knew_ I'd done it, because I'd been planning to, and there was blood." His mouth hardened into a line, and his expression changed to one Sirius had only seen on it a handful of times. "I wish I could remember. I wish I could be sure I'd gotten every single one."

"I'm sure you did," Sirius said. "I can't imagine you leaving one out."

"No," Lupin agreed, suddenly quite cheerful again, in a morbid way. "I can't see that I would have either. It's just the principle of the thing."

Something they'd always said as Marauders, when asked why they thought it was all right to play pranks on Snape. Sirius never thought he'd hear it from Lupin, as he had always been the single one that seemed to hesitate in those pranks, the cruelest and most heartless they'd ever come up with.

"Some people deserve it," his friend answered the unspoken question, quietly.

And Sirius found himself agreeing. "Yes. Some people do." Then, on a completely different thought, "When's the next full moon?"

Lupin blinked. "Tomorrow night. Why?"

This seemed to settle it. "You've got yourself a roommate, then," Sirius told him. "Hope you can take another romp through the Forbidden Forest."

A ghost of a smile appeared on Lupin's face. "Certainly, Padfoot old friend."


	17. Mistaken

**Lost and Found**

**By Rurouni Star**

Uhm.

Okay. So I have a thing for redeemed!Malfoy. Shut up.

**Chapter 16 – Mistaken**

Hermione sat outside unhappily, knowing somewhere inside her that it was perfectly natural for Lupin and Sirius to want to resolve things alone, because they'd been like brothers- but why did she have a sinking feeling that the end result was going to be something she didn't like?

With a sigh, she leaned back against the wall and let her head fall against it tiredly, closing her eyes. She hadn't really slept last night anyway – the memory of how utterly stupid she'd acted had permeated her mind, keeping her awake. She was sure there were shadows beneath her eyes.

Perhaps… perhaps it wouldn't be so awful to keep her eyes closed a little longer… after all, they might be in there a while…

She was vaguely aware of sliding to the ground slowly, her upright stance leaning precariously but her mind too suffocated by the warm, wonderful allure of sleep to care-

Someone swore, and a hand grabbed her shoulder, steadying her.

Hermione muttered something tired. Possibly, "What're you doing?"

"Keeping you from knocking yourself out, Granger. I'd be obligated to carry you to the hospital wing, and neither of us would like that much."

She opened one eye in surprise – then let the other open too. Oh – oh, this was not good. The last thing she wanted to deal with right now. And she was too tired to pretend to be nice, unfortunately, but he _had_ just kept her from, as he so elegantly put it, knocking herself out.

"Oh," she managed. "Thanks?"

Malfoy drew back his hand, pushing the hair back from his eyes, where it had fallen. Apparently she wasn't the only one with that problem. "Try not to fall asleep in the middle of hallways, then." He looked at the door beside her with a confused expression. "You come to see Lupin?"

"No," she said acidly. "I came because I wanted to fall asleep against this particular wall. Fond memories of it at Hogwarts, you know."

Instead of having the intended effect on him, her words simply made him smile wryly. "He isn't there, then, I take it. Or, could it be, perhaps, that your dead friend is inside, and he's left you all by your lonesome while he catches up on good times?"

By her scowl, he seemed to tell he'd hit the mark. "Oh for God's sake, Granger, you don't have to sit outside like a good little kitten. Come on."

At her suddenly confused expression, he grabbed her by the arm. "I _do_ have an office as well, you realize? Tea, even, though I hardly drink the stuff."

"Hot chocolate?" she found herself saying hopefully, blinking away her sleepiness as she transversed the hallways (or, actually, was half-dragged through them).

He stopped, surprised. "Well – yes, actually." And pulled his wand, swiping it once across the door in front of them. It opened easily, and he stepped through it.

"You keep your classroom locked?" she asked.

"Keeps the snogging couples out," he snorted. "They leave chocolate stains, crumbs, wrappers, one time I even found a little singing necklace. _Badly_ singing, of course."

"Of course," Hermione agreed vaguely, as he walked toward another door, to the back of the room. Brilliant sunlight streamed in through the windows, and she realized he'd taken the old Defense Against the Dark Arts room for his own. Ah – must mean Snape still had the dungeons.

He murmured a few words, and entered the door, waiting patiently for her to enter. Hermione felt herself become slightly unnerved at this behavior, but did so, not wanting to seem rude.

Malfoy left the door open behind him, sitting down in a chair behind the desk, where a few scraps of parchment rested in messy piles, red marks dotting them. The man swept them aside irritably before gesturing at two mugs to the side. They floated to a small tap in the wall, which spouted something very familiar and very soothing scented into them. Hermione, still somewhat drowsy, caught hers as it settled into her hand, taking in a quick mouthful to wake herself up – then spitting and gasping, immediately fully awake.

"That- that's _hot!"_ she said as he blew gently on his.

Malfoy simply smirked and sipped at his cup. "Why yes. I believe it is."

"You could've warned me," she muttered, touching the tip of her tongue to the roof of her mouth and wincing. That would sting for a bit.

"Why?" he asked her. "You're an adult."

She shot him a dirty look before cooling the chocolate down with her wand and sipping it carefully. But as she looked at him, her eyes were drawn to a small bruise on his left arm, where his robe sleeve had slipped-

Hermione's hand shot out, and her other one set the mug down on the desk. Malfoy cursed as her fingers dug into his arm, pushing back the sleeve.

"You- I don't believe it- you were-" Her eyes widened, and she found the words wouldn't quite come out. No, the memories were too painful, as she remembered the marks, burning dark black in front of her, taunting her-

"Deatheater?" he sneered. "What did you expect? That I'd join the circus when I came of age?"

Hermione's fingers tightened on his arm, and she felt her nails dig into his skin slightly. "You're horrible," she whispered in a choked voice. "And I felt _bad_ for you."

Something inexplicable flickered in his expression, but it was quickly replaced by his casual disdain for her. "Mind letting go? You'll draw blood if you keep up like that."

She drew back her hand as though she'd been burned. "Why?" she demanded.

And Malfoy stared at her, his face quickly turning dangerous. She realized belatedly that she'd set her wand down on the desk after cooling her drink – he grabbed it, and the door behind her slammed shut with an awful finality.

"You seem to trust me a great deal for someone that used to hate me so much," he breathed, leaning forward. His face was inches from hers, and the warm air sent a shiver of fear down her spine. "I could have brought you in here to kill you. Or _worse_." And now it was his hand clenched on her forearm, wrenching her to her feet and banging her knees on the desk. Hermione stopped herself from crying out, but the pain was there. She glared at him, trying to pull the arm from his grasp, but his fingers only tightened, and the fear inside her grew.

Then, he was pushing her back, and she fell into her chair again with wide eyes as he threw her wand at her. "Idiot," he muttered. "That's probably why they tortured you. Let them right in the front door, did you? Thought they were carolers?"

Hermione stared at him without comprehending, clutching her wand to her desperately.

"The reason I have this mark," he told her quietly. "Is because of a mistake I made. I should think you know enough about mistakes."

She felt tears gather in her eyes, but forced them back. "Why didn't you get rid of it then?" she asked, managing only a hoarse whisper. "I know you can. Snape got rid of his."

The corner of Malfoy's mouth turned upward. "Because it was my life, Granger. I don't hide my mistakes. They'll still be there, even if I pretend they're not."

Hermione rubbed at her arm, but the tears weren't going away. Damn him.

"I did bring you in here for a reason, though," he told her.

She looked up in surprise, something in her stomach clenching uneasily as he sat down heavily again.

"What's that?" she asked. "To try and terrify me to death?"

Malfoy snorted. "Hardly." Then, he looked at her penetratingly. "Why did you get me this?"

His hand was clenching something in it. She realized it was the small silk handkerchief she'd bought him, with his initials embroidered on it.

Hermione sighed unhappily. "If I'd known it would've made you do that, I wouldn't have done it," she muttered.

Malfoy's fist tightened on it. "Why, though?"

She glared at him. "Because I thought you'd like it, damn it. I get everyone I know something for Christmas."

His face _was_ priceless. And unexpected.

"Just- just _because?"_ he demanded. "No other reason but that you know me and you were getting people things?"

Hermione's face tightened, and she stood. "If you don't mind opening your door, Malfoy?"

His brow knit in puzzlement, and almost repentance. "No, no," he told her with a scowl. "Let me look at your arm, you'll have bruises-"

"I can handle it on my own, thank you," she gritted through her teeth, glaring at the door and willing it to open. "I'm an adult, remember?"

"Yes, well," he was striding around the desk now, "That big black knight of yours would tear me to pieces. I'm a potions master, woman, I've got them sitting right here, right now, it'll take two seconds."

Hermione made an exasperated noise and fell into her chair. "Fine. If you must, fix my arm, but then I'm going."

He pulled something from a cupboard – a small jar – and unscrewed the lid. The pungent smell of vanilla filled the air, and she found her eyes drooping again as her adrenaline wore off.

Malfoy knelt on one knee, pulling her sleeve up and frowning at the small dark spots that were already blossoming on her arm. Hermione sighed and closed her eyes, expecting some kind of stinging monstrosity-

But all she felt was a tiny warm tingle as the sweet-smelling concoction touched her skin. And his fingers were on her arm, rubbing it in hesitatingly. The warmth spread from the bruises, which were slowly disappearing, and soothed her raw nerves and slightly aching head. A kind of tired contentment overcame her.

"I'm sorry," he muttered.

Hermione blinked sleepily. "What?" she asked in mild surprise.

"I thought you'd done it to have a go at me. There's a lot of people… there's a lot of them that think I never really changed sides. Said I'd stayed on the sidelines to see who'd win. I don't use my full initials anymore, only the students get to call me Malfoy. The name gets me into too much trouble."

She looked at him with annoyance. "How on earth would I know that?" she asked.

But his fingers were still rubbing little circles on her arm, and she found she was much too sedated to care much. "I don't know," he admitted. "But it's not like we have the best history. You have to admit, a gift out of nowhere…"

Hermione was quiet for a moment. "You didn't have a chance to spy or even do anything remotely heroic," she said. "It- it ended the same month."

He looked away from her gaze. "Partially true." And his fingers left her arm, and she almost regretted it. "I managed one thing. After the war, that is."

She blinked. "What was that?"

He settled back into his chair, and said quietly, "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

Hermione arched an eyebrow. "Try me. You're looking at someone who went through the terrible seven years where every Dark Arts teacher was new and strange."

"And six were evil, too," he said, his mouth twitching. "Fine. I was the one that told about the attack on your house."

She came awake again, eyes wide. "What?" she said.

He merely leaned back in his chair. "I did tell you."

Hermione shook her head. "But how- how did you find out?"

Malfoy frowned. "A few of the Deatheaters came to where I was living. Nott and Avery. Asked if I wanted to avenge my father."

"And you – you didn't?" she asked, trying not to sound too incredulous.

He snorted. "It's not like he wasn't blatantly ignoring the law when they killed him. Even I'm not that stupid. Besides which, I can't see what you had to do with any of that – far as I know, you were busy studying for your bloody NEWTs when they brought him in."

"I was," she said quietly. "But what did you-"

"Tell them?" he asked, and his smile spread, as though he were relishing the memory. "I was a tad drunk. I told them to go fuck themselves while I drank some more firewhisky."

She gasped in delight. "You _didn't!"_

"I did," he informed her quite coolly. "And then it penetrated about a quarter hour later what they were actually talking about. I owled Dumbledore, then proceeded to get as trashed as I could."

Well. Well, hardly the most daring rescue or anything, but-

"Thank you," she told him.

He shifted uncomfortably. "Don't get any bright ideas. It wasn't for you."

"I know," she said. "But it's sort of customary to thank someone for saving your life."

"I didn't," he muttered. "They got away. And I heard a muggle saved you."

"They didn't get away," she said slowly. "I- I guess unofficially, they were killed." She swallowed. "But please don't tell anyone. It- it would be really bad for…" Hermione trailed off, not wanting to reveal any more than she had.

His eyes glittered at the news. "Wonderful. Bastards got what was coming to them." Then, completely ignoring her last phrase as though it had never been said, he pointed lazily at her cup of hot chocolate with his wand. A hiss of steam escaped it. "Don't let it get cold again," he told her.

Hermione looked at him suspiciously for a moment before testing it with her finger. It was… a little over warm, perhaps. But nothing that could happen on purpose. She sipped at it again.

"I think I've got to get you something better for Christmas," she told him with a wry smile.

Malfoy shook his head. "No. I- I like the handkerchief."

She blinked sleepily, and gave a yawn. "Man, I feel like I haven't slept for a week," she muttered.

"Well," he said, having heard her when she hadn't meant him to, "You _have_ been housing a convict. That would make me a bit twitchy too."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Ex-convict, thanks much." Then yawned again. "Malfoy, did you put something in this-"

Mm. This chair was much too comfortable.

"As a matter of fact – yes."

.

.

.

.

.

"Hermione?"

Sirius looked outside the door, confused. Then, he blinked. And blinked again.

"Moony – she's gone."

Lupin strode from the room quickly, turning his head around the corner to look. "Well. So she is."

Sirius thought about panicking – but instead he turned suspiciously to Lupin. "You know something."

His friend smiled innocently. "She's at Hogwarts for the first time in years. There are a few people that have been wanting to talk to her, I'd expect."

Sirius frowned. "I'm not entirely sure she's going to like that."

Lupin shrugged. "I'm not entirely sure she'll have a choice. She's been hiding too long."

And for the first time in a while, Sirius found himself disagreeing with his old friend.

"She has reasons," he said in a dark, slightly angry tone. _Clinging to him like he could erase it all, burying herself in his arms as though she could hide forever…_ "It's all good and heroic to say you can't run forever, but that's not how it works in real life. Some things you just don't want to catch you."

He never wanted to see her cry again, but he knew, somewhere inside him, that he would.

"You sound like you've got experience with this sort of thing," Lupin observed unflinchingly.

"Maybe I do," Sirius said. "Why does it matter?"

The other Marauder regarded him seriously. "Because as it stands, you are her only link to the outside world. If you decide to destroy that, then I might never be able to visit her house and have strawberries again."

It might have been funny, under any other circumstances. But the levity in his tone made it clear that this was precisely what he was afraid of.

"She gave you a scare," Sirius stated flatly.

Lupin didn't deny it. He simply stared at him tiredly, already looking just a little older. "We've lost too many, Padfoot," he said wearily. "And now that two of you have come back to me… I don't want you to leave again."

Sirius sighed. "Look, even if I did have some kind of hold over her, it's probably gone now. You always did tell me I was an idiot, and now we've got proof…"

"Oh?" Lupin asked.

.

.

.

.

.

"Ohhhh…" Hermione groaned as she woke up. "Not you."

Dumbledore gave her a slightly reproving look, but she could tell he was amused by her reaction. "Yes, Miss Granger, it is I. I should think, however, that this talk we are about to have has been delayed long enough. Normally, it would have taken place in my office at the end of the year or, in the more severe cases, in the hospital wing. It would have even done had I spoken to you at Saint Mungo's or the Headquarters. Do you know why I did not do this?"

Hermione found herself glaring at him and leaning back unhappily into the leather chair in front of his desk, where once she might have cowed like the respectable student she was. "No, I do not. Nor do I particularly wish to know – you've gotten what you wanted from me, haven't you?"

Dumbledore sighed, and one of the many golden trinkets on his desk reflected a shaft of light onto his glasses, making them shine disconcertingly. "Because, my dear woman, I did not want to trouble you more than I already had. I respected that you needed space and I gave it to you."

"Do you want an award?" she asked him bitterly. "Lord knows you've got enough, and my undying gratitude won't quite rank up there with Order of Merlin-"

"Now, now," he said, but there was a slightly pained look on his face. "You're starting to sound like Severus. We long ago decided between us that he was the only one allowed to be so blatantly disagreeable; it would tarnish his image to have a Gryffindor show him up."

Hermione sighed. "Yes, well, maybe he rubbed off on me in the ten minutes we spent together killing Deatheaters."

Her old headmaster was not put off by her rancor, though. "I was going to speak to you at the funeral, Miss Granger, but curiously, you decided not to come. And that has complicated things drastically."

"Got another death-defying mission for me?" she muttered, kicking at the desk irritably.

"No," he stated. "I meant what I said about living your life. Unfortunately, you seem to have only just now taken this to heart, and if I am not wrong, you are planning to hide yourself once again in your secluded home once your new charge gets back onto his feet."

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "So what if I am? This may not have occurred to you, but while you do have quite a bit of influence on the wizarding world, you can't touch the muggle one. And as I am no longer your student, I am not ruled by any complaints about my behavior you may have. Will you then expel me, Headmaster?"

The old man smiled at her. "You have, of course, hit right on the mark – as usual, Miss Granger, impeccable. However, I did not bring you here to talk to you as your old Headmaster. I brought you here to advise you as a friend, though the friendship I draw upon is now somewhat in question."

"You set us out like bait," she said quietly. "I have no obligation or intention of listening to your advice."

"Ah, but now you are suggesting that I allowed Deatheaters into Hogwarts?"

She glared at him. "No, of course not! Well – yes. I don't know!"

Albus Dumbledore shook his head and a hand went to his forehead. "Perhaps the fault was mine for being too complacent, or too busy, as I had just been coming back from Arthur Weasley's office at the time. Or, alternately, I could have been looking elsewhere for Mr. Riddle's next move. But the Deatheaters that you encountered had cast the _Imperius_ curse on both Seamus Finnigan and Hannah Abbot while they were at Hogsmeade – as you well know. What you do not know is that the passage those two opened was one I had not known about… one you are quite familiar with, if I'm not mistaken."

Hermione stared at him, not hearing, not even wanting to comprehend…

"I never did find out, I'm afraid," he said gently, "why you three were out that night."

And her bottom lip trembled dangerously. "Because we wanted to find the Mirror of Erised," she whispered. "We wanted to see what peace would look like."

Dumbledore smiled sadly. "I must admit that I did fail you quite spectacularly, and at the most inappropriate time possible. But I must change the subject, for there are things to understand other than the past. You performed some kind of magic to rescue our heroic Mr. Black some time in the last week."

She gasped. "How did you-"

"Let me ask you a question first, because I know how dearly you love to learn. Why do wizards manifest powers before they are taught how – before they even have wands to react with them?"

Hermione tried to quiet the voices inside that were clamoring for immediate answers. She had practice at it, but it had been a while. "Because the magic is everywhere, the wand is just the tool to use it. It reacts to strong emotions instead of the magical substances in the wand, using them as the replacement catalyst-"

Dumbledore tilted his head and smiled in that way that meant she was wrong, and she stopped in puzzlement. "Not quite, Miss Granger," he said. "I have discovered quite a few things in my time while working with some of the brightest young minds in this world, not the least of which is that emotions are a great influence on every spell that a wizard casts, even while he or she has a wand. You've noticed it too – your classmate, Neville Longbottom. Often cited as absolutely hopeless, written off as a veritable squib. And yet, by the end of his fifth year, he had taken out two Deatheaters under unfair odds. And by the end of his seventh, he was the savior of the wizarding world and the victor in a duel with one of the most powerful dark wizards of our millennium."

Hermione's mouth dropped, but she quickly regained herself. "How do you know that?" she demanded.

"Because," he said quietly, "our Mr. Longbottom did come to the funeral. He had the talk with me that I had thought to have with you. No one outside this room, apart from Severus Snape and Neville Longbottom, knows the truth of that night." She swallowed, trying to take this in, but he was continuing. "The truth of the matter is that the magic does not lie outside the wizard at all."

Dumbledore's glasses glimmered in the golden light.

"The wizard _is_ the magic."

Hermione stared at him. He couldn't possibly be saying-

"We are, all of us, the equivalent of the magical beasts that we once discriminated against. Our magic is drawn from us and from our needs of the moment. And so it was a surprise, and at the same time not much of one, that one night last week I found myself suddenly unable to cast the simplest spell." His wand pointed lazily at a spinning gyroscope, and the object rose gently into the air to fly into his hand. "Obviously, a full recovery. But what, I wondered, could be the cause?"

The gyroscope floated toward her slowly, still spinning. Hermione caught it in surprise, but it continued to dance, balancing perfectly on the back of her hand.

"Me?" she asked, incredulous.

He smiled at her. "You, yes. But me as well. Magic will always be magic, regardless of how we try to tame it. Normally, we restrict it so much that it can do very little on its own. You, however, did a fairly dangerous thing, and gave it very wide parameters. Could you enlighten me as to the particular spell you used?"

She swallowed, and choked out something.

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "Yes, Miss Granger?"

"I – the lost and found spell. _Mihi__ requienda-"_

"I will not ask you to tell me the last," he said gently. "But at least five wizards have spent a lifetime trying to create the exact spell to bring someone forth from beyond the Veil. It would take a great deal of power, in theory. Even with your need, the spell could not find enough magic within you – and so it seems my guilt made me surrender my own power unwittingly."

_Guilt?_ she mouthed, incredulous.

"Indeed." His expression softened. "Two of the things I most regret in my life – the death of one of my favorite students and the seclusion of another."

Hermione felt something in her stomach drop heavily as she looked into his wizened blue eyes. "I'm sorry," she said.

He waved his hand disparagingly. "We both have our own things to be sorry for. Apologizing will not mend things, and continuing to feel bad will make them worse. For now, I simply wish to ask that you keep in touch and that you open up to other people a bit more. Ask – not demand, not threaten, and not guilt you into doing so."

She nodded slowly, beginning to understand. Then, she rose and held out her hand hesitatingly.

Dumbledore grasped it firmly, shaking it.

"Merry Christmas," she said with a smile.

He smiled back. "Merry Christmas to you as well." And he looked over her shoulder, as though seeing something through the door that she could not. "I am sorry to have kept you so long. Do go and give my apologies to your friends."

She grinned. "I should hope they've waited at least this long for me. They're probably still inside talking, though."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled in a way she seemed to remember fondly. "You might be surprised."


	18. The Night Before the Night Before Christ...

**Lost and Found**

**By Rurouni Star**

**Chapter 17 – The Night Before the Night Before Christmas**

"Are you _certain_ she's safe? No one could have gotten in-"

"_Quite_ sure, Sirius, for the last time. Now stop pacing and do sit down."

The younger man snarled something beneath his breath in frustration, running his hand through his hair for what had to be the twentieth time that day. "I just don't like the idea of her being out alone."

"Somehow I think she can manage without you for a few hours," Lupin said mildly. "In fact, I should hope so, considering her age."

"How come you're always the stupid voice of reason?" Sirius muttered ill-temperedly, looking very much like he wanted to kick something.

Luckily, just as his eye settled on a rather sturdy wooden trunk (which probably would have broken his foot), a knock sounded at the door.

"Are you two done?" came a muffled voice.

Hermione.

Sirius rushed the door, opening it wildly. "Where on earth _were_ you?" he asked her. "Malfoy might've kidnapped you or something-"

"Well actually," she piped nervously, "he sort of did. I had hot chocolate with him."

Sirius stared at her.

She decided to plunge ahead, ignoring him. "I went to talk to Dumbledore and – well – we said a lot of things, actually, but I think it's all figured out in the end." Hermione winced and looked up at him hopefully. "Did you get done what you had to?"

Sirius suddenly felt uneasiness descend on him. At the time, the decision had seemed natural, but now that he remembered he'd been thinking of spending Christmas with her…

"Actually," he told her. "I'm staying with Moony for a while. I thought I'd catch up on a few things…" _Dolt.__ What in hell was I thinking – well, maybe that I'd sort of kissed her and made things uncomfortable. Yes, I seem to remember thinking that._

Hermione's expression didn't change, but he sensed that she'd lost something. "Ah. Okay then. Did you want your things?"

Lupin was staring at him, trying very hard to mentally communicate with him, he was sure. Unfortunately, even in the wizarding world, that was fairly hard. "Yes. I'll come and get them-"

She shook her head adamantly. "No, I'll bring them back, don't trouble yourself." Hermione turned to leave, but Lupin moved to intercept her.

"Go ahead and use my fireplace," he told her in a deceptively calm voice. "I have some floo powder you can use."

Hermione blinked, then shrugged. "I suppose, if you want-"

"I insist," he told her. "It's not that hard to get more, you know, and it would save you quite a trip."

She was gone a few seconds later, and Lupin rounded on him. "You're not still planning on staying, are you?" he asked incredulously.

Sirius felt his brow knit. "Of course I am, why wouldn't I?"

His friend's face changed to one he was quite used to – exasperation. "_I_ will have company for Christmas Eve, one way or another. If no one else, Dumbledore will come to see me. Hermione, on the other hand, will have no one. I would go myself, but I'm going to be _busy_." Yes. He was going to be _Moony._

"I would've thought you'd like having me for that time!" Sirius said with a frown. "Besides which, I highly doubt she wants _me_ there for Christmas. I snogged her, for God's sake!"

Lupin shook his head. "If you still want to stay, Lord knows I'm not going to stop you. Even though I should. But the instant you change your mind, _leave_."

Even as he said this last word, there was a _pop!_ from the fireplace. Hermione set down his robes and a few small things he'd bought in Hogsmeade.

"Merry Christmas," she said wryly. "Go ahead and visit from time to time, Sirius. I'll keep a set of clothes for you."

He found himself nodding, and before he could think to ask if she wanted him to stay, she was gone again.

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_Jerk._

Hermione tore into a strawberry viciously.

She should've expected it, of course. She had no real reason to be mad at him, but she really wanted to be anyway.

It was his choice where he spent Christmas. And she'd already had him for about a week. _And_ she'd made things uncomfortable between them. So really, no reason to be mad.

None at all.

"Where's the nice young chess player?" her queen squeaked.

Hermione shot her a glare that clearly asked her not to mention him. "Would you guys mind just playing me the best you can?" she asked the other side nicely.

The king sighed. "I suppose. But it's really not quite as fun as having some idiot to taunt, you know?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You'll have to do without, I'm afraid."

She had a few games with them, but it was harder than playing Sirius, and she lost every one. It wasn't because she was so distracted she couldn't tell her queen from her bishop. And it certainly wasn't because she was glancing up at the mistletoe so many times she saw it more than she saw the board.

"Honestly, woman, concentrate!" Her king yelled angrily. "I'm in _danger!"_

"I'm conceding," she muttered unhappily. "You guys go ahead and play between yourselves if you want."

Hermione found herself sitting in front of the fire with her journal, then.

_Sirius is gone, and I'll probably never see him again. Don't know why I care-_

She froze. Well, she'd already actually said it. So there was no point conveniently forgetting.

_Yes I do. I liked him. He was good company. He won't be coming back any time soon, though, and if he does, we'll probably both pretend like the whole mistletoe incident never happened._

_Bastard.___

_Why couldn't I have fallen in love with someone more sensible?_

Hermione sighed and shut the journal with a sharp _snap!_ not caring whether the ink stained the back of the last page or not.

She was just contemplating going to bed when someone knocked on the door.

Her heart leapt into her throat. Surely not. _Surely_ not, he wouldn't have come back-

She walked as calmly as she could to the door, peering outside.

Something inside her plummeted as she let Prott inside.

"Hermione!" the old man said happily. "Nice to see you!" He hugged her tightly, and she coughed, trying to find some breath.

"Wha-" She gasped once before he put her down. "What are you doing here?"

Prott was looking over her shoulder curiously, though. "Is your friend home?"

Hermione frowned. "No, he's not – he's… out. He'll be gone for a while." _For forever._

The storekeeper shrugged. "Just wondering. In any case, I brought you a little present." He pressed a small chocolate bar into her hand with a smile. "We just got in a nice shipment of them, and I thought you might like one."

Hermione found herself smiling back in spite of herself. "You know you don't have to-"

"Yes, well, I do." Prott scratched his head. "I had one of the boys here asking about you, you know. He's a nice one, good manners. Wanted to see if he could come over some time during Christmas."

Hermione sighed, knowing that the 'boys' he talked about were usually much closer to around her age and that he usually had ideas of marriage in there somewhere. "Prott-"

"Oh come on," he wheedled. "He's a good one, I swear. You can't keep shutting yourself away forever, don't you _want_ to have someone pamper you every once in a while?"

A dark thought flitted across her mind. _Yes, I did, but he left just a while ago-_

And then…

_"I simply wish to ask that you keep in touch and that you open up to other people a bit more."_

"I suppose," she sighed, giving in morosely. "If you really think-"

"Wonderful!" he beamed. "I'll tell him tomorrow then, shall I? Finally coming to your senses, I'm so proud of you…"

She decided to send him off before she could change her mind. "I'll see how he is, Prott, I'm not promising anything else. Merry Christmas and thanks for the chocolate."

He chuckled. "That's m'girl. Get some sleep, then."

Hermione closed the door tiredly as he moved back down the front path and sunk to a sitting position, leaning against the door. She didn't want to see anyone tomorrow.

Well.

_Except him._

She didn't want to admit it to herself, but there were some things a person just couldn't deny to themselves.

Hermione took an absent bite out of the chocolate bar and stored the rest in the refrigerator. She was probably going to have to get some sleep, but…

Her gaze flickered uncertainly to the bottom of the tree. Ugh, he'd left his presents. Oh well, she'd send them to him some other time. There were three presents there from him, though, stacked one upon the other. Surely, it wouldn't hurt…

With a sigh of self-indulgement, she moved to the faintly lit Christmas tree, trying not to look upward at the star and the mistletoe. Her hand brushed one of the packages in temptation, but she knew she'd already decided to open one. The small one, then.

The paper crinkled as she gently undid the taped edges, and something slid out of the packaging neatly. A box.

Before she could second-guess herself, Hermione pulled off the lid with her fingers, looking inside half expectantly and half fearfully. _What if it's something too good… I can't go back and find him to give it back…_

Gold glinted in the firelight, and she felt something in her catch.

Hermione stretched her fingers out toward the fine-linked chain, picking it up with the utmost care. A tiny, silver crescent dangled at the end, a star-like stone glimmering uncertainly in the center.

There was a note. She opened it quickly, wondering when he'd written it, what he'd been thinking… She started at first, surprised. She'd almost forgotten his elegant handwriting, tight and neat. Just one more thing his upbringing seemed to have influenced more than his personality.

_Found it in the vault; thought it would look better on you than on me._

_-Sirius_

It was much too easy to imagine him saying it, grinning wryly, maybe tousling her hair. But no, that was a fifteen year old memory – these days, he would grin at her and maybe brush her cheek… Swallowing, she undid the clasp, pulling up her hair and, with a bit of work, managing to close it around her neck again.

_Stupid.__ I'm such an idiot, I should just put it somewhere safe and forget about it._

A little tingle went up her back, though, at the feeling of the chain's weight on her collarbone. It was almost comforting.

Hermione turned off the fire and walked to her room tiredly, only vaguely aware that the chess pieces had now started re-enacting the battle of Philippi in Shakespearean verse ("Caesar now be still," one squeaked dramatically as he fell on his own sword, to tumultuous applause from his peers, "I killed not thee with half so good a will."). Falling into bed was, perhaps, the most contenting thing she'd ever done.

_Well. Not the **most**…_

She frowned and decided not to pursue that particular train of thought. Sleep was important.

So why couldn't she sleep?

Hermione pondered this thought unhappily for a few minutes before coming to the conclusion that she'd never really slept well in the first place. In fact, the first time in a while that she'd slept well had been when Sirius had been on the couch…

_Made me feel safe, I guess. Being all alone in this house brings back memories…_

A shudder went through her, but she quashed the unfortunate reminder of unending pain, of her own screams echoing distantly in her ears. There were some things a person just didn't revisit.

Instead, she found herself dwelling on the happy memories she'd had, just before the end. Which just wasn't much better… but she had to face it sometime.

_Oh Harry, Ron… I'm so sorry…_

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_Hermione turned a page in her book quietly, but she couldn't read the words._

_Dead.___

_They were dead._

_It didn't really sink in completely._

_How did you understand something like that? Something so sudden, there was no adjusting, not even a faint idea of what had truly happened._

_She put her head down on the chair's arm tiredly, eyes looking upward into the flames of the fireplace and trying desperately to recall those faces she so loved, the ones that had looked on her with such adoration and caring for most of her life. _

_The portrait opened, and she swallowed, trying halfheartedly to look as though she were still reading._

_Harry wasn't fooled in the least._

_"Hermione," he said softly. "I got you some dinner from the kitchens. Dobby sent you a piece of that chocolate cake you like so much… And Ron… he's taking care of all the arrangements for you, so you don't have to… to deal with them…"_

_She bit the inside of her cheek, wondering idly whether she ought to respond. It was customary, wasn't it?_

_"I'm fine, Harry," she said dimly. "You don't have to worry."_

_Her friend sat down next to her, even though there wasn't room on the chair._

_"You're not fine. Why should you be fine?"_

_But she didn't want to talk about it, and he should have known. If she didn't talk about it, she didn't have to understand…_

_"Hermione," he pleaded with her, "Please tell me. Anything – everything! I don't know what else to do, I just want you to feel better…"_

_She found herself swallowing back tears for the first time since she'd heard. Why did he want it to sink in so badly, couldn't he see she wanted to **ignore** it?_

_"Please?" he asked desperately, hugging her tightly._

_And she was finally crying, even though she still didn't understand._

_"I'm sorry," she gasped. "I just-"_

_"It's fine!" he told her. "Why shouldn't you?"_

_And she gave in, letting him be her friend like she'd needed but not known. Harry was still in his Quidditch gear – they'd called him out of the game, an unprecedented act, to tell him about the news. He'd not changed out of the clothes all day. The crimson color was oddly disturbing on him, but his green eyes were as caring as ever, and his scent would always be the same as when she'd first met him._

_Familiarity was comfort._

_And when she finally got hold of herself, not finished crying, not in the least, but not able to continue yet, he spoke quietly to her about nonsense, the things that were so normal it made her almost believe it was okay. Their chances of beating Ravenclaw, the problems Fred and George were still having with the map because it couldn't possibly be monitored all the time, the Potions essay he still hadn't finished…_

_"Thank you," she squeaked in a choked voice at some point, but she didn't know whether he'd heard or not._

_"It won't get better," he told her suddenly. "Ever. But me and Ron – we're here if you need us. And we'll get them back. It'll all turn out, Hermione, you'll see… and… and when we win, we'll all go to Fred and George's shop and have a party. You know they'll bring out those fireworks they've been working on…" She heard him, but didn't listen. For now, all she could do was try and remember her mother's soft touch and her father's fascinated voice as they learned about the magic world that would ultimately kill them._

_"I know what it's like," he said, breaking through her thoughts, and a rage bubbled within her. How- how could he possibly know- he'd never grown attached to his parents- "I miss Sirius just as much. But he would've wanted us to keep fighting, no matter what - he would've wanted us to be happy too. In fact, I bet he's watching over us right now…"_

But Sirius had never been watching over them, she thought bitterly. He had never been dead. And Harry had never had a chance to find out.

There was something else, something Ron had said defiantly as she greeted him, pale faced, as he asked, stuttering, if she wanted to attend the funeral…

_"I'm really sorry, Hermione, there's just- you know if I could have stopped it, if I could have been there… me and Harry both, we'd die for you, but we couldn't…"_

She remembered throwing her arms around him and sobbing that she didn't _want_ them to die for her, that she wanted them to stay very much alive and never leave her.

He hadn't listened, had he?

Hermione's hand strayed unconsciously to the tiny pendant around her neck, tightening on it. And somehow, she felt just a little better. Because she knew Harry wanted her to be happy. And Ron – Ron had helped her so much, all he'd wanted was to see her smile again…

"I'll make it," she whispered, now clutching the necklace so tightly she would later be surprised the delicate chain hadn't broken. "Somehow."

She didn't really get to sleep fully that night. But she knew somewhere inside her that she'd manage it the next night, at the least. That things were finally beginning to turn around just a little bit at a time.


	19. A Day for Visiting

**Lost and Found**

**By Rurouni Star**

**Chapter 18 – A Day for Visiting**

There was a knock on the door at approximately ten am.

Hermione was surprised at the mystery man's earliness, but otherwise prepared. She did, despite Prott's assurances, keep her wand close at hand in a pocket. One never knew.

She opened the door quietly, not quite knowing what to expect.

It was, therefore, quite a surprise to see Remus Lupin standing outside her door, still splendidly decked out in his Hogwarts robes and looking very haggard indeed.

Hermione threw open the door in surprise and delight, embracing him immediately as though she hadn't just seen him the day before.

Lupin smiled down at her, gripping her back heartily.

"What- why did you-"

Her old teacher and friend pushed her away gently. "I'm afraid we didn't get much of a chance to talk yesterday, so I came by to do so. You didn't really think, after three years-"

"No, of course not!" she exclaimed happily, pulling him inside. "Sit down, I'll make some tea – well, for you, but I've already had more than my dose recently…"

Her chatter was something he was used to, even after three years of not hearing it, and she was grateful that he seemed to take her nervous mannerism in stride. Lupin was just familiar like that.

When she came back with a kettle heated up, he was already leaning back in the chair, smiling with a kind of contented expression she'd only rarely seen on his face. It always gave her pride a nice boost to know he could be that way so easily in her presence.

After pouring him a quick cup, which he sipped at, relaxed, she felt her smile return yet again. A few of the chess pieces pointed and whispered amongst themselves, and she knew they were wondering whether he could play or not. But Lupin was not her opponent – he would never be that. He was now, and would forever more be, her family.

"It's Christmas Eve tonight," he said quietly, surprising her, but not unpleasantly. Lupin's voice was calm and deep – it always quieted her mind's murmurs and made her feel at peace. "It's also the full moon," he added.

Something inside her clicked, then, and her mouth fell open. But he didn't expand on it in the way she had assumed.

"I'm just sorry I can't be here to spend Christmas with you," he told her with a sigh. "I miss these times so much lately…"

"But you'll have Christmas at Hogwarts!" she protested. "Why should you want to come here, of all places-"

"Because it's where I belong," he told her quietly. "More so than among the students and staff there. Here, I am welcomed – I have family and a kind of home, all in one place." Lupin smiled wanly at her, and she suddenly felt awful for ever keeping Sirius to herself, unintentional though it had been.

"Thank you," Hermione managed. "I- you're always welcome here. Always."

He leaned forward across the coffee table and clasped her hands in his, staring at her with an intense look. "Hermione, I have missed you quite a bit. I don't know what Dumbledore said to you, precisely, but I want you to stay in touch with me this time. If there is anything you need at all, tell me, and I will find it for you." He said it with such fierceness that she found herself taken aback, even as her heart warmed happily at the thought of having someone care for as her parents had.

"Then I want you to do the same thing," she told him quietly. "I've done some very stupid things in the past few years. I'm only just now beginning to realize just how stupid. I would love to have you, directly after Christmas if you want. We'll catch up – Prott would be happy to see you too, I know. He thinks you're a good influence on me, that you might have some nephew or other that you can marry me off to."

Lupin's face took on a strangely humored look. "Yes, well, perhaps when I'm feeling better. I'm not up to matchmaking recently. You can tell him that from me."

Hermione chuckled, and suddenly things began to fall into place – they were still a family, fractured and split and separated though they'd been. She hugged him again on impulse, and she knew without having to look that he was smiling again.

"Cheer up," he told her. "Dumbledore sent me a present for you. Said to open it immediately, because you'd need it tonight."

She blinked as he pulled away, pressing something small and fluffed into her hand. It was a package, wrapped in plain brown paper – it had the distinct feel of wrapped clothing.

Hermione pulled open the corner of the paper, knowing that Lupin was watching almost as curiously as she was opening it.

She couldn't help it – she laughed.

"Socks," she murmured to herself, passing a hand over her eyes and feeling the weight lift from her face. "I really should have expected…"

Nice, thick, gray, woolen socks.

She put them on immediately, to a snort from Lupin. "Yes indeed," he muttered. "Socks. The man is mad and brilliant all at once."

"Maybe they're magical," she said offhandedly, knowing even as she did so that it wasn't true. Dumbledore was just odd like that.

Hermione twisted her toes inside the snug wool, watching with a bemused expression as it shifted with them. Truly, these were the most comfortable socks she'd ever worn. She had to give that to him, at the least.

"I'll be expecting you up at Hogwarts soon," Lupin told her as he rose again, whisking the dishes clean absently with his wand. "I'm sure my class could use a few horror stories from the days of the blast-ended skrewts. To think, they're complaining about griffons…"

Hermione grinned. "I'd love to see how Malfoy's class would handle my hexing their teacher in the middle of the day. I still owe him one from that trick with the drink…" Her face became blissfully detached as she imagined the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher having the leg-locker curse put upon him, hopping around with a scowl in front of his students… "His defense always was shoddy," she added gleefully.

Lupin seemed to share her sentiments by the way his face lit up. "You know, I remember learning how to extend a color-changing spell into a duration of days…"

Few people knew that good old Professor Lupin was, in secret, a very dastardly prankster. Hermione did not enlighten many people of this fact, for the simple reason that his ideas were usually much more creative than her own.

A few hours later, having exhausted the subjects of pranks, tea, school curriculum, old Defense lessons, political blunders, and funny things Malfoy's class had had their boggart turn into, Hermione accidentally fell upon the subject of Prott's new scheme to get her hitched.

"He's sending some man up here today," she grumbled. "I must've been too tired to think coherently – I distinctly remember saying yes."

Lupin's reaction was not quite what she would have expected. Normally, he would have laughed off this recent development in Prott's insane plans, but today his face turned instantly serious. "He's trying to set you up with someone?" he asked. "I thought, from what Sirius was telling me-"

"That he was trying to set me up with _him?"_ Hermione said with a laugh. "Oh, yes, I suppose he was. But you know how he goes from failed idea to failed idea…"

"So it was a failed idea after all?" Lupin asked with a thoughtful look. "I would've thought… but no. I suppose you're right."

Hermione found her interest piqued. "What are you holding back?" she demanded.

A slow smile spread over Lupin's face. "Nothing. It's just…"

"Just?" Her hand tightened on the couch's arm.

"Oh. It's just that old Padfoot seemed quite attached to you."

Hermione let her grip loosen with a frown. "You're wrong," she told him. "And I don't know why I'm even – even bringing this subject up with you." Oh damn. She was blushing. "He's not the kind of person to get attached in that way anyway."

Lupin looked ready to pursue the subject, but soon seemed to think better of it. "Yes. Yes, I suppose so," he murmured. "It's too bad, really."

And before she could ask him what this cryptic remark meant, he was getting ready to leave. "Remember, Hermione," he told her. "You'd better come visit – or Dumbledore will order Malfoy to drag you up to the castle. You know he would."

Hermione grinned wickedly. "You mean Malfoy would _try._" She fingered her wand with relish. "I have no compunctions about cursing Malfoy, if you're wondering."

Lupin shrugged. "I might have to reinforce him, then, if it comes to that."

She glared at him. "Hey! No fair, you were my _teacher-"_

He chuckled, stopping the mock argument before it could begin. "I'll see you, Hermione," he told her. "Do owl me once in a while, won't you?"

Lupin gave her one last healthy hug before leaving through her front door – and disappearing with a pop.

She was almost back to waiting anxiously for her visitor before-

_Owl him?___

_But I don't have an owl!_

Hermione shook her head. Lupin never misspoke. Perhaps he was expecting her to use the public post. But Diagon Alley was such a long way to go, just to use the post…

She moved to close the door with a frown.

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_Missing him was hard._

_It started with shock, of course. Because she hadn't really been awake for it, had only been partially lucid. She remembered screams and shouts, blurring together into one mass of incoherent noise. Lights flashing – explosions and hisses and near misses… almost like a war._

_But when she'd woken, they'd all been so somber that she knew, she **knew** something awful had happened._

_"Who?" she'd croaked harshly.___

_Harry, in particular, had avoided her eyes._

_"He- he fell through the veil," Neville said. "There wasn't- there was no time-" His face was red and splotchy, signs of crying. But those that grieved didn't cry so soon. Neville had just been exposed to death, not introduced to it and kissed by it as it took one of his dear friends._

_"Who?" she repeated desperately, looking around at them, hoping beyond hope that she didn't know the person well, and feeling guilty even as she did so._

_Lupin met her eyes with the calm that only a man in shock can maintain. "Sirius," he said quietly._

_She swallowed, then tried to taste the idea. It didn't work. He wasn't dead. Sirius was not the kind to die, and so he wasn't dead._

_"I'm sorry," Lupin said, but it was clear from his own expression that he had been hit very hard himself. _

_Hermione tried it again, tried to fit the end to the man. It didn't work._

_It wouldn't work for months to come._

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The events of the next few hours were really just a blur. The man Prott had been so apt to recommend came and went – he was a nice man, but he wasn't really anything special. Tea was had, talk was exchanged, and he was sent home, perhaps a bit discouraged. Daylight burned up at an alarming rate, and she lit the candles in the living room as the sun began to set.

The evening found Hermione relaxing in her chair and wondering how on earth she was supposed to cope with this utter _boredom._

Sirius had infected her. That was the only explanation.

Before, she'd been quite happy (if you could call it that) in her little town. No big events, no nasty wizarding articles, no nosy people, no noise, no hustle to get somewhere, anywhere…

She sighed and looked over at the chess pieces, who were also looking just a bit groggy.

"Just fell asleep, just like that!" one muttered. "The indignity!"

Hermione stifled a smile. Ron couldn't possibly have afforded the best chess pieces, the ones that didn't need to recharge by deactivating once in a while. That had to be what had happened with these.

Her gaze drifted absently to the fire, and she remembered Sixth year about this time, when Dobby had led a group of house elves around the school, singing Christmas carols at the top of their squeaky voices. A little smile made its way to her face as she imagined his little pointed nose and proud stack of hats. Had she really been as awful with the whole S.P.E.W. thing as she remembered?

No. It had to be her memory playing tricks on her.

A knock at the door made her blink, taking her from her reverie. A little worm of irritation went through her – it wasn't too late, it was probably some of the local kids caroling, but she didn't _really_ feel like getting up…

Another knock, more urgent, managed to stir her from her seat. It was Christmas Eve, after all, and there was no need to be rude.

Hermione opened the door with a smile, determined to greet whatever it was with some good old Christmas cheer.

Her smile fell into a gape as she took in the figure in the doorway.

"Why Hermione," Sirius said, looking quite disheveled and quite happy about it, "Fancy seeing you here."

And he kissed her.

She only had the time to slightly comprehend this new development before his hands clamped down on her shoulders, guiding her inside and against the wall to steady her. One of his hands was now in her hair, tangling wildly in it, while the other had slipped around her waist.

Part of her melted – the other part was still standing in the doorway, staring, and wondering what the hell he was doing here.

"And a Happy New Year," he murmured slyly against her lips.

She laughed, despite herself, and found that he'd closed the door quite deftly with his foot – he was now steering her toward the couch, hooking her leg with his. Hermione found herself in a new and quite interesting position as she was tripped gently onto the sofa, Sirius following rather quickly to hover just over her.

He seemed to be taking his time now, though - and as he stared down at her with hungry blue eyes, his thumb ran down her cheek and over her bottom lip. She twitched in surprise, but he didn't follow through with the action just yet.

"What-" she finally managed. "What on earth was _that?"_

Sirius grinned. "Christmas present."

She laughed happily. "You already _gave_ me some of those! _And_ an early Christmas kiss."

But he was leaning in toward her now, holding himself inches from her face. "So?"

Hermione was quickly finding it somewhat hard to think. "So… I… that is, I thought…"

His hand had slipped behind her neck now, and was rubbing lazy circles in the most delicious of places. "You thought?" he asked, eyes focused on her lips, which she found herself licking uneasily.

"I- yes, I thought you'd gone to stay with…"

Mm. That was nice.

She could feel his breath on her face now, and all pretense of thought was now fleeing before the simple knowledge that he was about to kiss her again.

"I think I can give you an advance on the next few Christmases, hmm?" he asked with a wide smile.

Hermione was really only able to blink at this.

He seemed to take this as a yes.

A slow, achy slide of mouths followed, and Sirius was now nibbling a trail down her neck. Something that sounded suspiciously like a moan escaped her mouth-

At which point, she came to her senses.

"How did you do it?" he whispered against her.

She felt the trembling in her body increase. "What?" she asked.

"How did you save me?" he asked again, one hand still massaging the back of her neck.

Hermione felt the knowledge inside her begin to hurt, and she swallowed, one hand moving surreptuously into a pocket…

Sirius had pulled back and stood above her, was staring at her in the strangest of ways… and she realized belatedly, unhappily, that he was twirling her wand in one hand.

"Clever girl," he whispered, blue eyes staring into hers.

Sirius didn't have blue eyes.


	20. An Interesting Turn of Events

**Lost and Found**

**By Rurouni Star**

**Chapter 19 – An Interesting Turn of Events**

"You always were quick on the uptake," Sirius said quietly. "Except for once – but that time was special, wasn't it, Hermione?"

She trembled, wishing she'd gotten it just that much sooner, wishing she hadn't been so _stupid_…

"No imitation is perfect," she found herself whispering. But for the flaw to be so obvious, the potion had to have been made by someone of very little skill… she'd know who in a moment, of course.

His lip curled derisively, as though he knew what she were thinking. "The only Polyjuice potion you can get on such short notice is in Knockturn Alley. The shops there are not known for quality."

There was her answer, then.

"Who are you?" she managed in a voice that came out much more shaky than she could've wished.

"You know me already," he told her, leaning forward with a smirk that looked much too close to Sirius' for comfort. She cringed away as the tip of her own wand touched her heart.

"If you knew enough to imitate him, you know he's going to be back soon, too," she said in an almost steady voice.

The wand flicked once, and something inside of her tore. Hermione hissed in pain as something hot and sticky trailed down her arm.

"Let's not start with the lies already," he said mildly. "You and I both know your little friend is staying with dear old Moony." He smiled at her discomfort. "Unfortunately, Veritaserum is much more difficult to come upon than Polyjuice potion. We'll have to do this the old fashioned way now that I can't get it through touch." His hand moved to trace her cheek and she recoiled in disgust. He frowned.

"You were a little more responsive when you thought I was him," he told her. "Isn't that Sirius all over, though? Only has to walk into a room to get a couple of girls trailing after him. Thought you were smarter than that." She saw him smile and lay a book down on the table, apparently awaiting her reaction.

Leather, bound with gold cord. He'd used a linking charm, reading everything as she wrote it, in a separate but similar diary…

She ignored the pang of violation and refused to let it show on her face. "He's a good person," she told her unknown assailant. "That's why people care about him."

Sirius flicked the wand at her again – the little gash on her thumb reopened. She steadfastly ignored it.

"We're not here to talk about how wonderful he is," he told her with a cold look. "How did you bring him back?"

Hermione stared at him. _What?_

"Did you not hear me or have you suddenly been struck deaf?" he said in a fury, and she watched with horrified fascination as Sirius' features twisted into an expression she'd never seen him use before. "Because if you _are_ deaf, there's no reason to keep your ears attached to you."

She swallowed. "I don't know," she said.

He looked at her appraisingly before jabbing at her again with her wand. She was ready this time, though, and she twisted to the side, avoiding the wand and grabbing at his hand. He cursed and kicked out at her – her arm buckled, and she realized he had intentionally weakened it. Hermione held on desperately with her other hand, ignoring the spreading pain in her shin, and lashed out with her own leg, trying to hook the back of his knee. When he realized what she was trying to do, he pushed forward, and she found herself overborne by his weight.

The two crashed to the floor together, and Hermione felt a sharp pain in the back of her head where it hit the leg of the table. Stars blossomed in front of her eyes – she moaned as she tried to move and found herself temporarily unable to do so.

Sirius stood up again, her wand clutched safely in his hand. He brought it to bear on her then, muttering the now-familiar full-body bind. And then, she _was_ unable to move.

"Perhaps," he panted, black hair falling in a mess in front of his eyes, "Perhaps I haven't gotten through to you the importance of your compliance." And she knew suddenly what he was going to do, before he even moved. "_Crucio!"_

Sharp pain – it was usually compared to a thousand needles being driven into her skin, but that wasn't correct at all. It was more like someone peeling her open forcibly, laying bare her nerves and then driving nails into each and every one. Fire in her blood, burning everything and demanding her attention in a way nothing else could.

She was aware of wanting to scream. Her heart pumped furiously, and her muscles tried to tense but failed. Her head pounded with the need – a need ingrained so far in her as her need to breathe – and hot tears worked their way free of her eyelids.

Then, it was over suddenly, and she was able to move again. Hermione gasped and screamed before realizing the pain was gone, leaving lingering the violent spasms of muscles that hadn't been able to move before.

"Interesting, isn't it?" Sirius' voice asked, and she wanted to cry at the fact that it was his. "I discovered that particular combination of spells when the Dark Lord used them on me himself. He was quite good at what he did – absolutely brilliant." He grinned in a way that made her sick, an expression of adoration and obedience so ingrained in him that no amount of years could possibly wash it away.

"He's dead, though," she said hoarsely. "Harry killed him."

A strange shiver passed over his face, and the expression disappeared. "Yes. Yes, he is, isn't he? But it still hasn't disappeared… it won't, not until I bring him back…"

At these words a horror uncurled in her stomach, and she realized why he was there. He thought she could help him bring back the Dark Lord. But that wasn't possible, it had been so specific and so fortunate… and the Dark Lord hadn't just fallen beyond the Veil, he had been killed…

"I can't," she gasped. "I really can't. I swear it."

He frowned at her, and she watched with wide eyes as his hair began to change. It was no longer dark and smooth – parts of it were fading to a dull yellow color while other parts simply disappeared entirely. His face was screwed up in distaste as it began to bubble and change…

Hermione turned her head, trying to hold down the little she had in her stomach. The potion hadn't been made correctly – the transformation wasn't pleasant. It would be painful to the extreme, like being torn apart and put back together again…

A hand grabbed her chin and drew her back to face him.

She felt the blood drain from her face.

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"Sirius Black. What an honor to have you back among the living again."

The voice sounded like it was anything but pleased.

Sirius frowned. "Snape," he said simply.

The other man, still wearing his usual black robes but now with more wrinkles and more graying hair, surveyed him with a nasty look. "Headmaster, if this is my Christmas present, I'd rather take the socks."

Dumbledore chuckled. "Never fear, Severus, you'll have your socks this year."

Snape's expression soured further, if it were at all possible.

Lupin sighed and shook his head. "I'm afraid I have no time for this, Severus," he said. "As you well know, I'm going to have to go somewhere more private in-" he checked his watch, which showed the lunar phases on it. "-about ten minutes."

The group of people congregated in the Great Hall was small this year – very few students had decided to stay behind, and those that had were staying as far away from Snape as possible.

Malfoy calmly ignored the altercation and picked at his steak absently, shooting amused glances at Professor Sinistra as she tried to keep calm her poor black cat while it ate its dinner right next to Firenze the centaur.

"Good hunting, Lupin!" the platinum-haired Potions master called absently as the man left. "Catch a few phase mice if you're up to it – I'm almost out of their blood!"

Lupin shot him a wry smile and left – behind him, Sirius kept his angry gaze focused on Snape before disappearing around the corner.

Malfoy, completely calm up until a moment ago, suddenly sat bolt upright in his seat and swore loudly. Sinistra shot him a reproving look before realizing her cat had run off.

"Nearly forgot," the man muttered. "Christmas Eve, too, what was I _thinking-"_

He leapt to his feet, forgetting for the moment that his steak was getting cold, and ran after the two.

The staff members sat in silence for a moment, staring at each other in surprise and, in some cases, open dislike.

"Ah!" Dumbledore said amusedly, breaking the silence as he pulled something from his chocolate frog package. "I've gotten my own card again!"

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"You're dead," she stated simply, ignoring the churning in her stomach.

The man smiled. "Yes, you would think that, wouldn't you?" He ran his hand over her wand absently, only now his fingers were silvery and slick. "People are often stupid at the worst of times, though."

Hermione felt her eyes narrow, and she spat at him. She managed to hit his shoe. "You're nothing but a coward. That's three times now you've pretended to die."

He was no longer short and fat – still short, but now bony, emaciated to the point of disgust. Sirius' spare robes hung off him in folds, driving home the fact that his cheeks were hollow and his face was gaunt. A rat without a master…

Peter Pettigrew chuckled. "Yes of course. But don't you want to know how I did it? You always were the know-it-all… shouldn't you want to know the one mystery you never solved before I torture and kill you?"

His words scared her more than she could have wanted – he seemed to realize it to some extent, because he started talking with relish. "Transfiguration has never been my easiest subject," he told her. "I could have transformed some tree branch into a rat, of course, but it wouldn't have passed for me. I had to actually buy one and cut off one of its fingers – oh, don't look so sick, it's just an animal. I had to curse it myself to disfigure it enough to pass – Nymphadora Tonks didn't have enough power to do such damage herself. That's why she was so puzzled when the corpse was so charred…"

Pettigrew smirked at her sudden discomfort. "She started to wonder at the truth, of course – if she'd really done it. Curious that they never found the person that killed her, isn't it?"

Hermione bit into the side of her cheek, and tasted bitter blood. "Bastard!" she managed.

He shrugged in an eerily calm way. "I've realized, though, that life isn't quite so treasured as everyone makes it out to be. After all…" an odd gleam came into his eyes, "After all, they put me in Azkaban for a year – strange that the Dementors saved me when no one else would. Hardly a noble act."

She trembled with fury. "And you put Sirius in there for twelve years. You don't have the right to talk like that." She hadn't known that he'd been in there for a year, though. Perhaps that had been during the time she hadn't been paying attention…

His hand shot out, then, to grasp her throat. She coughed, but didn't look away from his mad eyes. "You can't bother me," he hissed at her. "You're at my mercy. Two words from me and you'll never say anything again – like that, wouldn't you? Never see dear Padfoot again?" Peter's lips twisted into a strangely happy smile. "I wonder what he would do, coming back to find your mangled body. Do you think he'd go mad?"

"_You've_ gone mad," she told him angrily, and she found the strength to struggle again as her muscles stopped spasming quite so much. "You didn't have a true thought to hold on to in Azkaban-"

Pettigrew's fingers tightened on her throat, cutting off the rest of her sentence. "Don't you _ever_ speak that word again," he hissed. "You haven't _been_ there, you don't know!"

Hermione gasped for air, but felt something block it. She panicked, lashing out, but Pettigrew held his hand steady, watching with an insane pleasure as her struggles slowed, then stopped.

Black encroached on her vision. She felt her arms slacken, her body beginning to shut down…

And then, at the last possible moment, he'd thrown her away, and she was sucking in air as fast as she could, blinking away the spots.

"You _will_ tell me how to bring him back," Pettigrew hissed at her. "If Sirius can come back, then so can he-"

"He _can't!"_ she tried to yell, but all she managed to do was breathe.

Pettigrew stalked toward her, blue eyes glittering malevolently. "Do you want to see how long you can scream?" he asked her. "I can make you scream all night. I took the liberty of setting up silence wards when I came before to get his hair, so no one will know…"

Hermione looked past him to see some of the chess pieces suddenly having an epiphany. "So _he_ was the bloke," one muttered. "Seem to remember now, put that charm on us…"

"Poor old Prott," Pettigrew said on inspiration. "So easy to fool, you know. And then, your _face_ when I came to the door – I had to use a particularly strong _Confundus_ charm, one of my only true strengths, really. It was awfully amusing to have you treat me like some love-struck man…"

She gritted her teeth, trying not to hiss angrily and failing. "You're an idiot," she told him. "Kill me now if you want, but there's nothing to know."

Pettigrew laughed shrilly, and she found she could see the Azkaban in him. It was different, darker than Sirius' own Azkaban, and she knew that while he'd only been there a year, he'd relived some very cruel things. She found a grim satisfaction in this. "Obviously, you're missing the point," he told her. "I have to finish the job even if I don't get anything out of you. A point of pride, if you will."

He pointed her wand at her again, almost lazily this time, and said, "_Crucio."_

This time, there was no binding on her, and she could feel her body arch in pain under the curse. But she bit down on her tongue – she wouldn't scream, not for him, not even for this…

Pettigrew frowned, and she felt the pain intensify. A shriek tore its way past her unwilling lips, and she let out a frustrated sob. But the pain didn't end immediately this time, it went on and on and on, until she felt her throat close up and her body tear and her eyes burn…

She wasn't immediately aware of it when it stopped this time – her sore muscles had cramped, and were spasming so hard that she couldn't quite tell the difference.

"Perhaps we'll go full circle," he whispered, though her vision had blackened to the point of darkness. "All three Unforgivables. Fitting, don't you think? We save the best for last, of course…"

And then, she heard his harsh voice, as though it were a part of her. "_Imperio."_

A light-headed sensation. Giddiness. Nothing hurt anymore, it was all just a happy, blissful, floating, nothing.

**Get to your knees.**

Hermione frowned and ignored the voice. She seemed to remember this, seemed to remember resisting it just because she had to, once upon a time.

**Get on your knees and crawl!**

She hesitated, but refused again. It began to build up, though, like an itch she dearly wanted to scratch. And really, what did it matter if she did it? It wasn't as though it would hurt anyone…

She felt herself slide to her knees stiltingly, though something in her was still resisting.

**Kiss my hand, like a good little Mudblood.**

At this, she felt her face crunch up in disgust. No. No, she wouldn't do that.

**You dare to disobey me?**

A pain shot through her temple, and she hissed. No, she wouldn't. She wouldn't!

She bit at her lip, and suddenly the real pain brought her back to herself. Hermione made to lunge again, but Pettigrew drew back just in time. The word "_Stupefy!"_ crossed his lips, probably by reflex since the _Cruciatus_ curse was just as useful, and her eyes rolled back into her head.

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"Hermione- _Hermione!_ God, wake up, please-_"_

Someone was shaking her. She groaned as she felt their fingers digging into her arm, where blood was still running freely. The person above her heaved a sigh of relief.

Wait.

_Peter!_

She bolted upright and immediately regretted it – she hit foreheads with someone, and subsequently fell back into the cushions, swearing. "I'll kill him," she said hoarsely, "I'll _kill_ him, that _bastard-"_ Hermione opened her eyes, but found her vision was swimming. A shadow loomed over her, but she couldn't make out the features.

"Hermione, what happened?"

No. _Impossible._

Although, granted, she'd thought that before, and been wrong.

"Sirius?" she managed, putting a hand to her head. But wait, she couldn't tell, his eyes- "Very amusing," she hissed, sitting up and trying not to sway. "Think you're really clever, don't you?"

There was a pause. "Hermione, are you okay?"

"The fuck I am, you bastard-" First time in recent history she'd seen fit to use that word. Well, wasn't as though the situation didn't warrant it. She tried to rise, but she could barely make out his figure, and even if he'd had her wand, she wouldn't have been able to tell. Hermione found, then, that she, well, wasn't standing anymore. In point of fact, she had collapsed into a heap on the floor, her weak legs unable to hold her.

"What's _wrong_ with you?" he asked, pulling her up. "Have you been drinking?"

She pulled away from him as best she could, but the strength to do so wasn't there. "Why the hell would I be drinking?" she hissed. "And when would I do it, at the point where you tortured me? Maybe I did it while I was unconscious, I'm just talented like that-"

There was a pause.

"Wonderful. I'm beginning to think _I've _been drinking." He sighed. "I just came by to drop off Malfoy's present – don't know why he got you anything, but he said the owl couldn't find the house on its own… you looked like you were _dead_, for God's sake, don't _scare_ me like that-"

"How do you know about Malfoy?" she muttered. "I wouldn't write about him…"

Her tremors increased, and she felt her legs buckle again. Pettigrew caught her, and she resisted the urge to let herself fall unconscious again. Because this was _not_ Sirius, however much it might feel like him-

Hermione stiffened as the black cleared from her vision.

Gray eyes.

"Ohhhh…" she moaned. "This isn't good. Get out _now_."

He blinked. "What?"

"He's going to be back in a second, probably checking for anything I might've written down-"

"Who are you talking about?" Sirius demanded, arms tightening on her. "You've done nothing but spout nonsense since-"

"Pettigrew," Hermione said urgently, "He's _not dead._ Look, the small, thin present, the one in red-" Sirius was gaping at her. "-get it and hide in the kitchen, damnit, or he'll just kill you. I mean it, he has the wand, he won't hesitate-"

He was moving now, but he was also holding on to her. Hermione decided then that while Sirius was admirably brave and sometimes dashing, he just didn't have the patience for intelligent plans. "Let me go," she said.

Sirius didn't bother to respond, but picked up the small present and gave it to her. Footsteps were coming from the hallway. Hermione thought her heart might burst from the strain. Then, with something she thought had to be a Herculean effort, she stamped on his foot and dashed for the hallway, dropping the present as she went and shooting him a meaningful look. Sirius swore, picking it up and moving after her.

She had to say one thing – Pettigrew's face was absolutely priceless as she barreled into him. His breath left him as he fell, but she noticed in a panic that he wasn't holding her wand. Where was it, had he left it somewhere-

He was reaching into a pocket, though, and she lunged desperately, knowing as she did that she was much too late.

"_Rictasempra!"_ he gasped. She felt feather light touches begin on her sides, escalating to just below her chin – Hermione gasped, biting down on her cheek to keep from laughing. How would he know to use that, there was no way he could know how ticklish she was-

_Oh. He was Ron's rat for three years._

Pettigrew stood, wincing, and pointed the wand at her again. She knew what he was going to do, then, it was obvious. But she could withstand it this time.

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He didn't understand what the hell she was playing at, but he _did_ know she wasn't about to go rushing off being the hero. This was much too serious.

Sirius held Hermione tightly, moving toward the kitchen and letting her open the present. Footsteps were sounding in the hallway, and he realized with a stupefying thought that they were _Peter's_ footsteps, the traitor's footsteps, and he was going to see him for the first time in two years. No, not two-

Hermione's foot came down on his foot, and he let her go in surprise. She shot him a furious look – before rushing into the hallway.

Sirius swore and picked up the package, moving after her-

There was a squawk of surprise and sounds of a struggle. Then, a voice, a voice he _knew_, cried, "_Rictasempra!"_

He was almost there – he could see Pettigrew now, standing over her convulsing figure, readying the wand with a maddened, disheveled look. There was a moment of understanding, as he realized what the short, now-bony man was about to do. "Cruci-"

Sirius lunged, tossing him backward and ramming his elbow into his ribs angrily. This man was the reason he'd survived Azkaban, the reason Lily and James were dead- the reason Harry was dead, to an extent, and the reason Hermione was broken-

Whatever surprise he'd had on Pettigrew wore off as the man struggled in his grip, grappling with a strength borne of desperation. Too late, he saw the man's hand reaching behind him for the wand he'd dropped-

_"Crucio!"_ he gasped, and Sirius felt himself split into a million different pieces, all screaming and dying at once-

Pettigrew was on his feet now, staring at him with a twisted face of glee as the curse intensified. Sirius bit down on the pain and shot his hand out to grab the man's ankle, pulling it out from under him. It was amazingly thin – had he wanted to, he felt he cold have almost snapped it… He was vaguely aware of Hermione attempting and failing to get up behind him, her limbs trembling with the effort, her face pale white as her hand reached for something...

The pain didn't end as the other man toppled, but it lessened somewhat. Sirius grabbed at the wand, spots of color obstructing his view, and managed to close the fingers of his right hand around it. The spell ended, giving his awareness a push, and he choked.

Peter gave the wand one good pull and stumbled back, pointing it at him. "You- I don't believe it- what happened to playing with Moony?"

Sirius snarled at him, contemplating attacking him again, but watching the wand with caution. "What do you care? You've betrayed us, you don't give a shit! You really were a rat, weren't you-"

An insane smile made its way onto Peter's face. "Yes. Yes I was, the whole time. And you trusted me, and I trusted you not to notice – there was a little guilt, of course, but the Dark Lord purged it easily. He's a great man – and he will be again, as soon as she tells me how to bring him back."

Sirius felt the blood drain from his face. That was what he was after? He'd never thought to ask how she'd done it, was it possible-?

"You're not needed anymore, though, Padfoot old friend," he said with a glitter in his eyes. "Just think, you've evaded death almost as many times as I've faked it. I wonder if she'll be able to save you from the grave again…" The wand raised, and Sirius tensed, readying himself. This was going to have to be quick.

Wormtail licked his lips, smiling, bringing it down. _"Avada Kedavra!"_

A scream came from behind him as he leapt toward the traitor. It wasn't until he saw the wand go flying that he realized Hermione had screamed a word. _"Expelliarmus!"_

There was a flash of light, and something grazed him, sending chills through his body – his heart froze and he choked, stumbling. He was vaguely aware of a hard stop as his head hit the floor, and a shudder wracked him as the world disappeared.


	21. Lost and Found

**Lost and Found**

**By Rurouni Star**

And here, my friends, we reach the end. Don't worry, I have too many ideas for my own good. I'm sure you'll see another SBHG from me at some point.

**Chapter 20 – Lost and Found**

Hermione stared, openmouthed, at the collapsed, unmoving figure on the ground. Pettigrew was still standing over him, looking just as shocked as she – but only because he was currently missing her wand.

"No," she whispered. It wasn't possible. Not after everything he had been through – he couldn't-

Two wands, clasped in her shaking hand. Peter Pettigrew was now staring down at his old school friend, disbelief etched onto his face.

"Padfoot," he whispered, sounding strangely lucid. "Padfoot, get up, won't you? This isn't a funny joke, not a funny joke at all…"

Hermione felt her strength wavering as she saw the gaunt man kneeling at Sirius' side, his hand reaching out shakily to touch him-

"No!" she screamed. "Get _away_ from him. _Get away!"_ A fury, familiar and aching, had risen inside of her. The sharp, painful hate that filled her and emptied her all at once. One of the wands was moving now, without her consent, to point at her former assailant.

Pettigrew looked up at her funnily. "I killed him," he said in a high, strained voice. "Didn't I?"

She felt something inside of her twist desperately, and found she couldn't quite breathe. "He can't- no-"

"I did," he said shrilly, "I killed Padfoot! And Lily and James! I killed them-" And Peter started laughing, insanely, laughing in a way she'd only seen once before, on the wanted posters that advertised a mad convict, escaped from Azkaban- "It doesn't feel like you'd think," he told her matter-of-factly, mad, sunken eyes boring directly into hers. "I don't feel a thing!"

Hermione swallowed hard and clenched her teeth, hand gripping the wand so tightly that her knuckles were turning bone white. "I'll kill you," she told him. "I'll kill you!"

Peter Pettigrew didn't respond as she swept the wand up and back down to point at him again. He was simply looking at Sirius' body with a frightened, desperate look that completely belied his last statement.

And she realized that she couldn't do it. Not again. Because…

_"I don't reckon my dad would've wanted them to become killers—just for you."_

_"Petrificus Totalus,"_ she said hoarsely.

Pettigrew stiffened immediately, the wash of magic freezing his face in that awful expression as his body straightened out and threw him back mercifully from Sirius Black's crumpled figure.

She found herself stumbling toward him now, and falling beside him, her hand moving to brush the hair from his closed eyes where it had fallen. And it hit her that he looked the same, living or dead, that he was still Sirius but that he was gone from her forever – _again_ – even as he lay there right beneath her, still warm.

Hermione gave up all control, then, throwing herself onto him and into his chest, feeling the tears come without care. "Wake up," she pleaded desperately, her voice not working well enough and choking when she didn't need it to. "Wake up, please wake up Sirius…"

She watched it. She'd watched him die and she could have prevented it, but she hadn't been quick enough-

"Don't be dead," she told him, begged him. "Please… please don't…" She buried her face in his neck, wishing to god that he were alive to be embarrassed or uncomfortable or to hold her close and tell her he was okay… she wanted him to kiss her again, to feel him being reckless with her even though he didn't mean it. She didn't care that he hadn't meant it. She didn't care about anything except that he was gone and it was her fault again.

"Sirius," she whispered to him, pulling herself raggedly onto her elbows and then putting her hands to his face, her forehead to his, still warm, still damnably warm. "Sirius, please. I don't ask for much. God, I've never asked for much. I just want you to live. You can be mad at me, you can leave me, you can even refuse never to so much as look at me again–" He couldn't hear her, but she tried, and tried, and tried, crying. "I love you, you bastard, so _wake up!_"

Hermione wasn't aware that she had cast any kind of distress signal with her wand, but apparently she had – because there were people in her house now, trying to pull her away from him, though she clung tightly to the belief he was somehow living, sleeping, pretending, _anything_. And there were people taking Pettigrew away-

"Granger," someone was saying hoarsely, later. "Come on. I'll get you a firewhisky, lord knows you need it-"

"No," she said, staring at him, peaceful, reposed, still. "No, no, no, no, no-"

And he was holding her the way Sirius had, patting her awkwardly on the back. "Fuck. My fault, my fucking fault, if I hadn't asked-" She wasn't sure how she was still crying. Surely, she must have used up all her tears by now. But someone was holding her like him, and he was overly lanky, just like him, and he was crying too, for some reason.

"Come on, Granger," he urged her with a shaky voice. "At some point, they'll want you for questioning – I'll get you out before then, please let me- you can stay in my office. Hot chocolate, we'll have some. Calm- calm you down-"

"No," she said again, shaking, gripping his shirt. "I can't. I can't leave him-"

"Damnit, listen to me!" he was yelling, angry and confused and pained. "Do you want to have to tell them- tell them everything? Let the bastard have to explain instead! I'm telling you to come with me and have some fucking hot chocolate and talk to Lupin once the fucking moon is gone!"

She was still denying it, over and over. The word had lost all meaning, at this point, but it was something to say.

"Mr. Malfoy, we're going to have to-"

"No, you're not. What you're going to have to do is stick that legal shit up your legal ministry asses."

"I don't think you quite understand-"

"Fuck off."

"We need to talk to her about Mr. Black-" She choked again.

"DID YOU NOT HEAR ME? FUCK OFF!"

A hand was on her shoulder now, drawing her away from him.

"Miss Granger, it's very important, if you could only listen for one moment-"

The hand was removed, a moment later, as Malfoy released her to grab the man by the collar. She didn't pay much attention, other than to hug herself instead. "Listen, you pompous arse-"

"I'm telling you, you don't understand!" the man was saying, apparently starting to panic. "Look, just you come with me if you want, but I'm going to have to tell _someone!"_

She was dimly aware of the man being let down slowly. Malfoy moved back to her. "Be back," he hissed. "Just – just stay for one moment, I'll _be back-"_

And she was left alone, to shiver and sob on her couch in silence.

Alone, what a god-awful concept – she'd thought she knew what alone was, before, when she'd lost Sirius once, and then again when she'd lost her parents, and god help her, when Harry and Ron- but no. Now. Now she was alone. This aching emptiness inside of her was complete, irreversible.

An eternity seemed to pass, as she remembered the petty concerns she'd had before. Wondering whether he'd ever come back to visit, if she wanted him to, if he was out at the very moment playing tag with a werewolf- whether she were possibly just not pretty enough, or if he'd just thought she was _boring_ – mudblood, perhaps, it was because she was a mudblood- but he'd _died_ for her and it didn't make her happy, just utterly empty-

Malfoy was back now, hands on her shoulders, helping her up. She followed him limply, tears streaking her cheeks, leaving burning, sore tracts behind as she wiped halfheartedly at her swollen eyes.

"Come on," he told her, sounding strangely subdued.

She let him guide her. There wasn't anything to care about now.

"It's okay," he muttered uncertainly.

_It's not_, her mind supplied brokenly.

His hand tightened on her shoulder. She didn't think to ask why he bothered, why he was even there, as he moved her gently within the circle of his arm. "Come on Granger, buck up. You're made of tougher stuff, I should think."

She was about to snap at him, to yell and scream at him and ask how _he'd_ be feeling and release the anger and helplessness and despair inside of her at him unfairly – but the vision in the next room made the words die on her tongue.

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He woke to a bright white. Unassuming, blissful, white. He was warm, as though someone had wrapped him in a blanket, and he felt an inexplicable happiness bubbling within him. He was home, somehow, even though the only home he'd ever had was long destroyed, in Godric's Hollow.

"Sirius," someone whispered.

He felt a gentle smile spread over his lips, staring into the white infinite.

"Sirius?" they whispered again.

And he woke up.

It wasn't white. No, it was pitch black, the color of his eyelids. His face was wet, for some reason, and there _was _a blanket over him, except something heavy was holding him down…

"What?" he asked, but it came out as more of a "Whugh?"

A choked sob met his ears, and he opened his eyes blearily. Hermione threw her arms around him, crying. "Oh god, you bastard! I thought you were dead – I thought you were _dead!_ You have no idea-"

Sirius blinked, and felt her shaking against him. His hand moved up to close on her head, weaving his fingers through her hair. She managed something slightly incoherent – "Thought – never do that again – so fucking _scared-_" He felt his eyebrows raise of their own accord at her language, which reminded him slightly of a certain teacher they'd recently talked with.

"I – I'm _alive_," he told her with a shaky smile. "It's okay."

"It wasn't," she told him in a voice that broke something inside of him. "I thought it n-never would be again…"

He slipped his other arm around her, holding her more tightly. "I'm sorry," he said quietly, feeling absolutely wretched and strangely as though he might cry himself. "But you're all right – we're both all right – and that's what counts, isn't it?"

She made a muffled choking noise against his chest. "No. No, that's not what counts, what counts is that I thought I'd lost you again. Do you even know what that felt like? Do you _care?_ I can't _remember_ a lower point in my whole god damn _life!"_

Sirius felt the inexplicable urge to point out that she'd certainly felt lower when Harry and Ron had died, but it was just _not_ the right time and _not_ the right thing to ever say. So he settled for sitting up with a tired effort, moving his hand to her back and rubbing comforting circles in it, feeling the silken material move with his hand, the robes he'd gotten her and given her early-

He didn't think it was humanly possible to hold someone tighter than he was doing at the moment. But she was _still_ crying, and he _still_ couldn't think of a way to make her feel better. It probably just didn't exist. "Hermione," he told her in a pained voice, "I didn't want you hurt again – why would you even think I'd just stand by and let him do something like that?" And a thought did strike him now as he moved one hand to tilt her chin up toward him pressing his forehead to hers. "I didn't want to lose you," he whispered, confiding his secret to her. "You're worth much more to me than that."

He could feel her trembling still, but her tears had stopped. "You can't say that to me," she told him. "I don't want it. I'd rather you run away and leave me to die than do something so god damned stupid."

At that thought, though, he immediately shook his head. "You're not thinking," he informed her wearily.

"You're fucking right, I'm not," she told him, and this time he _knew_ he detected a little of Draco Malfoy in her. "I don't want to think if it means you dead. I want you alive and I never want you to leave again."

Her words sent a tiny thrill through him, though he knew they weren't meant in the way he wanted. So hard to read, Hermione, because she'd always been such an open person, and you couldn't look for hidden meanings…

"I was so scared," she whispered again, burying her head in him. "So scared…" Hermione seemed unable to find a better way to voice this, inarticulate for what had to be one of a few times in her life.

After a few minutes of rocking her gently and feeling utterly idiotic for it, Sirius said, "And – ah – Peter?"

"Gone," she told him tiredly. "I got him, and the Aurors came to take him- Lupin came this morning, but he was so tired - he said he was expecting you to stay, but not like this-" Her voice broke.

"It's over," he said reassuringly. "You'll never have to see him again." Then – "How did he get in, anyway? He didn't have a wand of his own, and I can't imagine you just letting him in the door like an old friend…" He trailed off as he felt her stiffen.

"You did," he stated flatly, a fury rising in him at the thought of Hermione putting herself into such blind danger, despite the fact that he'd just done it himself. "Of all the moronic-"

"He looked like you!" Hermione burst out. "What reason did I have to doubt you- I-" Her face was ashen, but it colored slightly as she thought of something. "Well, there wasn't even really a chance to protest…"

Sirius looked at her askance, but realized that now was just not the time for lots of questions. She was still trembling, though whether this was from the curses or from her fright, he didn't know. A window was open, shining sunlight into the room-

"It's morning?" he asked blankly.

Hermione sniffled quietly, as though she didn't want him to hear, now of all times.

"You haven't slept," he muttered.

"Would you?" she shot back, wiping at her face.

Well. She had a point.

"Come on then," he said, hauling her to her knees. "There's nothing to do after a near-death experience like play chess."

Hermione rubbed at her eyes, which were red and swollen (a slight pang of guilt hit him), and laughed, laughed much too hard, and he knew she was feeling ridiculous and – more importantly – that she was feeling better. Impulsive things had that effect on her… something warmed inside of him as he realized _he_ had that effect on her. "Yes, you're right, of course. Although the poor things have to be confused after seeing you twice last night…"

Sirius smirked, dropping his hand to her arm and into a less intimate position. "Oh well. Maybe the king'll be scared enough to actually listen to me this time."

Hermione's hair was disheveled, but it was usually in some kind of state thereof. Sirius got to his feet, leaning a bit on her, and forgot to stifle the instinct to brush it out of her eyes, his hand moving up to do so. Her skin was warm to his touch, and he let his fingers linger perhaps just a little longer than they had to as he stared at her uncovered brown eyes.

Her face flamed red, but she said nothing as she sat him down on one side of the board. She moved into the kitchen, though, and came back with two small cups.

"Strengthening potion, a la Malfoy," she muttered unhappily, setting one in front of him. "Apparently, the whole world seems to think a few Unforgivables will kill me after that incident a few years back." She was kind enough not to mention his particular altercation with death, for which he was very much grateful. The subject would have to be put away, just for a little bit, to give them time to stabilize again.

He shook his head. "Well, before we do anything, shouldn't we open presents?" He had a few interesting things to give her, not to mention Malfoy's present-

"Oh. Yes. Presents." Hermione's head came up, and she seemed immensely relieved at the prospect of a diversion from the current subject. "Well I guess we each ended up with one open, so it's not a big deal…"

Hermione looked about for a moment before spotting something on the table. Sirius blinked as she brought it back, handing it to him.

He jumped back as sparks burst from the wand, and various chess pieces dove for cover. His face lit up.

"How in the name of all that's holy-"

"Percy," she said happily. "I went to see him at the office in Diagon Alley – he managed to get it back for me through a few connections – I mean, not the least of which was Arthur-"

Sirius grinned, quite sure it was taking his face off. "Wonderful. God, I feel almost human again!" He waved the wand and Hermione's rumpled robes straightened themselves out, the wrinkles disappearing instantly. She shot him a dazzling smile.

"I- I sort of opened one early," she told him, remembering suddenly. "I hope you don't mind-" She was fingering something at her neck, and he felt his smile widen even further, if it were possible.

"Looks wonderful," he said emphatically. And then, with another flick of his wand, he set the stone in the middle of the crescent moon glowing.

Hermione smiled. "Nice to see you're having fun with one of your presents, at least," she told him.

Sirius didn't reply, but gestured at the other two presents under the tree, sending them flying toward her. Hermione caught them deftly, face scrunched up as she tried to imagine what might be in them-

"So open one," he muttered, amused.

She chuckled and began to tear at the paper. The next one made her gape in surprise – stargazers, of course, charmed to stay fresh. They earned him an absolutely flabbergasted and simultaneously delighted look that sent tingles down his spine.

Hermione insisted that he open his own presents before she went any further though, and he found that she hadn't disappointed at all. A small baying dog pin shone at him – he put it on immediately, grinning, as he opened the last present. His face turned surprised, though, as he took in the book she'd gotten him.

_Wizards' Chess – a Complete Guide to Opening Moves_

He chuckled. "What are you going to do if I read everything on the Queen's Pawn?" he asked. "You'll be out of luck!"

Hermione grinned. "I'll have to brush up, then, won't I?"

As she bickered pleasantly with him, she tugged at the paper of her last present absently – but when she looked down, her face froze.

Sirius inwardly cursed himself. "I'm sorry," he said, "I just saw it and thought- well, it's fine, I'll get you something else-"

"No!" she said hurriedly. "No, it- it's wonderful."

A picture in a frame showed her younger self waving happily at her from the kitchen of Grimmauld Place, while a scowling Sirius tried to escape her iron grip on his arm. Harry and Ron were arguing in the background over a game of Wizards' Chess – Harry was holding a rook underneath the table in one hand, trying his best to look innocent while Mrs. Weasley scolded Ron for being a poor sport.

Hermione laughed. "I remember taking this now. Didn't I have to drag you into it?"

Sirius shrugged. "Possibly. You got the end result, though, didn't you?"

She smiled shyly at him. "Yes, I suppose I did." He froze, and she ducked her head, embarrassed. "I- what did Malfoy have you bring?" she asked suddenly.

The dark-haired wizard's mouth fell open. "Oh- oh no, I forgot- she's going to be furious-"

Hermione blinked as he ran into the front entry way. He almost laughed at her face as she realized what he was talking about.

A tawny owl glared at him with wide amber eyes, hooting angrily. Hermione bit back a laugh and moved to help him with the cage. The owl glanced at her appraisingly before sidling up to the bars and nipping at her hand.

"What's the name?" she asked him.

"Not sure," Sirius shrugged, trying to ignore the owl's hoot of protest. "I'm sure it's something suitably Malfoy-ish, so we can go ahead and forget it."  
  
Hermione smiled. "Oh, I think I can safely guess Narcissa."

The owl hooted imperiously, and she chuckled. "Yes, I suppose that _is_ it." She set the cage down and moved for the bag of food that Malfoy had sent with it, refilling the food tray and opening the cage to let the poor thing out for a bit of air. It swooped out majestically, picking at Sirius' hair irritably before settling in front of Hermione expectantly. She frowned at it.

"What?" she asked it.

It pecked at her hand, not ungently, and twitched its head at Sirius. She put a hand to her mouth in realization.

"Oh!" she said, surprised. "_Oh!_ I see." And got up to rummage through a desk in the corner of the room, pulling out a pen and paper…

Sirius watched her curiously as she brought the rolled makeshift note to the owl and tied it to its leg, drawing her hand over its feathers affectionately. "Smart thing, aren't you? He give you orders to have me tell him when he woke up?"

Narcissa seemed to puff up at this compliment, confirming her statement. She smiled wanly. "He will tell the others, won't he? Lupin in particular, I should hope…" The owl didn't seem as sure of this statement, so Hermione clucked her tongue. "Bug him until he does. You're under my orders now, remember?"

The owl seemed to agree with her, as it hooted once, taking on the mission. Hermione tapped it once on the beak before letting it out her window with a sigh of relief. Sirius decided, wisely, he thought, not to comment. She sat back down, not quite meeting his eyes and now looking overly intently at her own pieces.

His king was indeed looking at him suspiciously when they made to start. "Well. So you _are_ back," the piece stated unhappily. "Thought the last time you tried to ravish her would set her on guard, but no…"

Sirius thought about ignoring him. Then decided to start an argument, because he really felt like one. "It was just a kiss," he told the piece irritatedly. "No one was trying to ravish anyone."

Hermione's head fell into her arms, embarrassed.

"Sure looked like you were trying hard enough," the piece tsked. Then paused. "Oh wait. That was the Pettigrew fellow, wasn't it? Just looked like you-"

Sirius choked and shot a glance at the back of Hermione's head. Her hair had spilled out of its band during the night and was now covering any possible view he might have had of her face.

"Hermione?" he asked, shocked.

She muttered something miserably, but he couldn't hear it.

"What?" he asked.

"Pettigrew is a bastard and we can very easily leave it at that, can't we?" she asked hopefully, just loud enough to have him hear.

"I suppose," he muttered reluctantly, although he really wanted to pursue the subject. Hermione was looking absolutely wretched, and it was partially for his sake, so he swallowed his questions with effort. He was swelling in fury, though, at the thought of the rat impersonating him and doing _anything_ to her under his guise-

And, despite his prior resolution, he found himself asking, strained, "Did he- did he kiss you?"

Hermione didn't respond, but he was certain he saw her trying desperately to disappear into the floor. Sirius' jaw tightened. "How far did he get, Hermione?" he said in a deadly voice. "I'll kill him, they can't have done it yet- forcing himself as though he were _me-_"

"He didn't," she said meekly, and he almost didn't catch it.

He sighed in relief. "It was just the one, then?"

But she was moaning into her arms. "No, that's not it, you don't _understand-"_

Sirius felt a kind of dread seize him. "Which is it, Hermione? Tell me!" He felt the urge to apologize to her, even though it hadn't been him. To assure her that he never would have done any such thing, but to bite back the part where he might tell her he _was_ slightly in love with her in any case…

"Please don't make me say this," she pleaded, and he could tell she was near tears again. "I can't take it, not so soon-"

"He _did_," Sirius said, standing up immediately, shaking with rage and weariness all at once. "Where are they keeping the bastard, I'll rip his guts out! I'll kill the little fucking rat-"

"No!" Hermione told him hoarsely, looking up with a pained and abjectly humiliated face – an expression he'd only spied a handful of times, the times she'd told him of her darkest inadequacies. "Damnit, you don't understand! He- he was probably going to… and I probably would have let him, if I hadn't- hadn't figured it out-"

Sirius froze, gaping at her, and she stood up too now, swaying and putting her hand to her face. "Oh god," she breathed. "I think I'm going to be sick."

And she ran for the bathroom.

He stood, absolutely stunned, unable to follow her, unable even to feel the concern he might normally.

Hermione did not come back, though. And he had an uneasy feeling that she wasn't going to, that she was utterly terrified of ever facing him again.

"You should go after her, you know," Hermione's queen said, annoyed.

Sirius blinked dazedly.

"Really, you're awful with women from what I can tell," she continued. "Go on, before she thinks she's daft."

Sirius tried to understand why, precisely, Hermione would want him to see her after such a debilitating confession, and failed. But he found himself walking back through the hallway anyway, trying to listen for signs of her in one of the rooms. Surprisingly, she was not in the bathroom. Since the closet was a very unlikely place, he suspected she was in her room. Especially as the door was closed and locked.

Feeling very stupid and somewhat violating, he brought his wand to bear on it, unlocking it and slipping inside the darkened room.

She was there, in point of fact, curled in upon herself, her hands covering her face hopelessly.

"H-Hermione," he tried, but it came out a bit strained.

She didn't look at him, but was trembling uncontrollably. "I didn't want to tell you," she whispered, and he could hear the tangible despair in her voice. "Lupin will be wanting to see you, I'm sure he won't mind if you stayed with him- there's – there's some extra floo powder by the fireplace, and your things are still packed-"

He walked closer to the bed, expression still slightly shocked as he dropped down next to her. She flinched as his hand touched her knee.

"Why would I want to go stay with Lupin?" he asked guardedly.

Hermione quivered. "B-because- you'll probably want to go somewhere- and he's probably the best choice-"

"I understand," he said quietly, pulling back his hand as though he'd been burned. She wouldn't want him touching her, most likely. Something dropped in his stomach. Hermione wanted him to leave. "If – if that's how you want it, I suppose I can go."

He got to his feet and walked back to the door, but found he couldn't leave. Hermione's posture was that of a person on the edge, just waiting to be alone so she could collapse into hysteria. He couldn't leave her like that, not even when he knew his staying would most likely make things worse.

So he swallowed and moved to her, putting his hands on her shoulders again. "I do care about you, Hermione," he told her. "Quite a bit. If there's anything, anything I can do at all- I'd stay and do something, if I thought it would make things any better."

She hesitated and looked up at him, now, through a thin curtain of hair.

"What are you talking about?" she asked. "I thought you'd naturally want to- to leave-"

His brow creased. "Why would I want to do that?" Sirius asked her, surprised.

Hermione's face colored a deep crimson. "Because I just all but admitted I wanted to- well that I like you in that- you know what I mean!"

He didn't know, actually. But he could certainly guess. And he found himself suddenly very much aware of her heat, soaking through to his hands, that if he wanted, he could close the gap between them in one step, and that he was very hungry in a way that didn't involve his stomach in the least.

"Oh," he said. But he didn't move.

She was looking at him with a very embarrassed face, and he realized he probably ought to speak or do something to reassure her. The only thing that came to mind, though, was the fact that he really wanted to kiss her. That there was no clear reason not to. And finally – yes. Yes, that would work.

He leaned in crossed the distance between them and kissed her – hard.

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Hermione wanted to die. Really, very truly, wanted to just keel over at that moment and never have to face Sirius Black ever again. The awful man had just made her admit verbally twice now that she'd have him do whatever he wanted with her, that she'd nearly gotten them both killed because she wanted him to be that for her so badly that she'd believed Pettigrew when he'd dangled it in front of her.

And now, he was standing in front of her, slightly stunned, as though this fact had never even occurred to him.

And Hermione reiterated to herself: she wanted to die.

Sirius was moving now, and she nearly missed it. Moving toward her, possibly to ask her what in god's name she was thinking-

Except that he was pressing his lips to hers.

She gasped involuntarily against him, tumbling backward as he leaned forward and pressed her arms into the bed beneath with crushing force. At the opening of her mouth, he took immediate advantage, delving hungrily into her with such ferocity she thought she _had_ to be dreaming. Therefore, she felt no guilt whatsoever in straining against his grip and wrenching an arm free to throw around his back, pulling him closer to press against her. A thrill shocked through her where his fingers were suddenly leaving burning trails on her cheeks, down her neck-

"I'm going insane," she told him.

He cut her off with a harder, deeper kiss. "Then so am I," he gasped.

She took this as what she could get – before he could change his mind and pull away or some such thing, her hand pressed into the back of his head, tangling in his hair, pulling his mouth back down to hers. He avoided it, though, and moved his mouth to the place just below her ear, down the column of her neck. She shuddered, pushing up against him as his hand moved the top of her robe aside to let him place a burning brand to her collarbone.

Hermione laughed, giddy – she leaned up against him and brushed her lips against his jaw line, feeling her stomach flutter as his grip tightened on her. Sirius groaned, pulling her face back to his. "You're going to kill me," he told her – and his mouth pressed down on hers again, slow and possessive; Hermione tightened her fingers in his shirt with a small moan.

But he pulled away suddenly, his familiar and comforting weight still pressing down on her, but his eyes studying her and watching her like smoldering embers. "I'm going to leave in a few days," he said, swallowing, watching her face. She knew it was changing, despite her best efforts, to a hurt and slightly betrayed expression. Sirius leaned down again, brushing his lips over her forehead. "I want you to come with me."

Hermione blinked. "Wh- what?"

Sirius smirked slowly at her, even as his hand trailed down to grasp her hip. "Moony told me Grimmauld Place is still in my name. I could make something nice of it, maybe. I was hoping you'd let me repay you for all your help-" She felt her breath escape her with a flutter of hope inside her. "-maybe by staying with me for a while."

She made a show of pondering this for a moment. His expression turned calculating, waiting for an answer-

Hermione licked her lips. "I think I could be persuaded," she said hopefully.

Sirius' eyes darkened, looking her over. "I could manage that, I think," he told her. One hand moved up her back and across her neck to knead into her scalp, sending a shudder through her.

Then-

"You know," Hermione said unhappily. "Prott's going to hold this over my head for the longest time."

Sirius laughed and kissed her again.


	22. Epilogue

**Lost and Found**

**By Rurouni Star**

And now, because of many requests – your epilogue. Maybe a sequel, dealing with the others – _maybe_. Before I even think about it, though, I've already started at least two other SB/HG's (yeah, I know, I'm a glutton for punishment). Perhaps they'll get somewhere.

So. _This_ is the utter end of this particular fic. No more requests for epilogue 2's or some such silly thing.

**Epilogue**

"Sirius! Get back here, you _bastard!"_

He wisely chose not to stop running.

A red-faced Hermione burst through the door behind him, leaping to tackle him. Normally this would be a good thing, but she was (somewhat) covered in white paint.

"Um," he said sheepishly as she stared down at him furiously, pinning his arms and consequently getting him with his own joke.

"Get it off," she growled. "I know you know how."

Sirius smiled winningly, but her face didn't lighten. With a last sigh of, "You're no fun," he pulled out his wand and said the counter to the spell that kept the paint from being spelled away. Hermione herself cast the un-staining spell and sighed in relief as the paint disappeared.

Subsequently, as she didn't get off him, Sirius found he really couldn't argue with the fact that she'd gotten rid of the paint. Kissing her would be oh-so-much easier this way.

He knew he was getting a look in his eyes when she frowned and rolled off him, dusting herself off primly. "No," she said sternly. "Bad dog."

Sirius grinned. "I could show you bad dog-" he offered mischievously, but her eyes rolled at him exaggeratedly.

"Do you _ever_ want to get the entry way painted or not?" she asked, getting to her feet and pushing stray strands of her hair out of the way (unsuccessfully, as they just fell into her eyes again).

He made a show of pondering this question seriously. Hermione's sharp look his way made him sigh and give in, though. "Oh, I suppose," he told her.

She smiled at this and moved to go back to the painting job, but not before wondering how many days they'd been trying to get it done without any distractions. It was surprisingly hard, considering she was staying in one of the rooms for the express purpose of helping him fix up the house.

"And if you so much as _wave_ that wand," she called back, "I'll hex you silly and have my way with you!"

He grinned. "That's not much of a threat!" he replied loudly, wondering if she'd really go through with it.

"I'm talking hot pink robes, you idiot!" Hermione laughed. "Now could we _please_ get this done already?"

They did manage to get most of it done before the doorbell rang.

"Oi!" Sirius called, "Could you get that?"

A little squeaky voice replied in the affirmative before the sound of a creaking door was heard (they really needed to oil that…)

There was a short silence.

_"Dobby?"_ someone said incredulously.

Hermione blinked once before rushing the door. It _couldn't_ be-

_"Malfoy!"_ she said, just as shocked. "What in-"

The platinum haired wizard scowled and stepped inside without asking. "I bear tidings from Lupin," he said in a mock-officious voice. "He says you two are coming up to Hogwarts in a few days, no questions asked, for dinner." He then looked about the room with a hint of a smirk. "I, on the other hand, have come to tell you that the paint job is pitiful."

"Dobby thinks Miss Hermione and Mr. Black has done a good job!" the same voice squeaked from below. Hermione straightened in pride, flashing the house elf a smile. A galleon a day was hardly a drain on Sirius' budget, considering he got more than that in interest each day. And Dobby was an absolutely wonderful helper.

Malfoy snorted. "I could do a better job blindfolded."

At Hermione and Sirius' exchanged looks, though, he quailed. "Wait- wait, I didn't-"

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"This is _highly_ undignified," Malfoy groaned, pulling at the white painter's outfit they'd tailored quickly for him and staring at the paint bucket.

"Oh come on!" Hermione told him brightly. "It'll be fun! You can't tell me you weren't thinking it-"

"Can and will!" the teacher shot back with a glare. "I _wasn't_ thinking it." It was at that point he found himself quite suddenly drenched in paint.

His expression turned funny, as though disbelieving, and Hermione choked back her laughter.

Sirius stood behind him, tapping the bucket in his hand thoughtfully. "Should've changed it to maroon," he said finally.

Malfoy whirled on him, spitting. "You-!"

What ensued would not normally, by any means, be conducive to getting the damn entryway done. But they did end up with it done anyway – in quite a few interesting colors, after wands got involved – and the end result was stupefying.

"Who thought up the Kandinsky?" Malfoy asked blankly, staring at one of the walls while paint dripped from his hair.

"That'd be me," Hermione admitted, wiping a bit of magenta from her already hopeless outfit.

"Oh lord," Sirius said with a broad grin, "Wait till I break Mother out to see this – she'll _scream_ so loudly-"

"Please don't," Hermione groaned. "She'll destroy my eardrums."

Malfoy slapped a paintbrush into a bucket, leaning back against the wall with a broad yawn and sliding down to a crouching position. "I think dinner's in order for the slave labor," he said.

Hermione chuckled. "Why don't we get a little cleaned up first?" she asked with a critical look around the room.

There was a sudden flash of light, and she blinked spots from her eyes. Malfoy leapt to his feet with a gape, staring at Sirius (who just happened to have a camera in his hand).

"You- you _didn't-!"_ he gasped.

Hermione raised an eyebrow at Sirius, who merely smiled. "I'm sure your students will be quite interested-"

"You _won't!"_ Malfoy snarled. "You _wouldn't-_ I'll put poison in your blasted goblet- no, I'll put in _Veritaserum_, and let the kids take turns-"

Sirius merely waved the camera at him with a laugh. "You shouldn't get so worked up about having fun. Even if you _do_ sort of have a periwinkle blue in your hair…"

Another chase ensued, and by the time they were done, dinner was slightly cold. Luckily, Hermione remembered she was a witch just in time to keep them from eating cold chicken.

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Dinner at Hogwarts was amusing in the highest degree. Not in the least because Sirius turned into a dog halfway through to trip Snape up as he entered to sit down. What followed was almost an official duel, broken only by Lupin's choked laughter and quick intervention.

"So," Professor Vector said from next to Hermione, staring at the two men who were refusing to look at each other, "The Quibbler was right?"

Hermione blinked at her old Arithmancy teacher and laughed helplessly. "What?" she asked.

The woman turned to look at her with a sly smile. "You fancy him? I never would have expected a man like that, especially for _you_, of all people…"

Hermione's mouth dropped open. "N-no, of _course_ not- where would you- where would you get _that_ idea-"

"Caught her making moon eyes at him the other day," Malfoy said smoothly from her other side, before delicately swallowing a piece of steak. "Absolutely disgusting."

Vector looked at her triumphantly, and Hermione resisted the urge to hide her face in her potatoes.

_"Really?"_ Lupin said, from across the table, looking amused. "You know, Hermione, you really ought to just ask him outright-"

"Can't you people find something more interesting to talk about?" she moaned. "Like- like Crumple-Horned Snorkacks?"

Malfoy snorted. "Weren't you the one that always said the _Quibbler_ was rubbish?" he said. Lupin seemed to be agreeing with him, oddly enough.

"Is this lot bothering you?" Sirius' voice came from behind her suddenly. Hermione jumped, turning beet red and swallowing as she found him eyeing the others with a suspicious face.

Lupin tried to compose himself. "Of course not, Padfoot," he said, keeping his face straight with an absolutely valiant effort. "She was just talking to us about some Crumple-Horned Snorkacks."

Sirius frowned, looking down at her red face. "Are you all right, Hermione?" he asked. "You're looking a bit hot – and I _know_ you don't talk about the _Quibbler_ at all…"

She swayed slightly as he put his hand to her forehead, making Lupin send her a pleased look.

Sirius scowled. "I'm taking you home, you're not looking well-"

"Oh, do take her home," Malfoy managed, starting to choke on his laughter. "Perhaps you'll put her to bed, too?"

The black-haired man seemed to miss the joke. "Perhaps I will. She's really not looking well- Hermione, you've gone _pale_, here, get up-"

The group that had been sitting around Hermione was in hysterics by now, and she closed her eyes in embarrassment as Sirius slipped a steadying arm around her back. Despite herself, she found she was leaning into his warmth with a spreading giddiness inside her.

"Got any chocolate on you, Lupin?" Malfoy said maliciously. "I've heard it helps, in these cases…"

Hermione tried not to die of humiliation. It was really, really hard.

"Come on, then," Sirius muttered, "We'll pick you up something for this-"

"I have something at the house," she managed. "No, you go ahead and stay, I'll just- just get there myself-"

"No, you won't," he said firmly. "I'm taking you there if I have to throw you over my shoulder? Are we clear?"

No, it was not her imagination, the whole staff table (and, by association, the whole bloody _room_) was looking at her now.

"Fine," Hermione gasped. "Fine, just- just let's get out-"

"Thanks for the invite, Moony," Sirius said. "It all right if we go through your fireplace?"

"By all means," Lupin said, a twinkle in his eye not unlike Dumbledore's.

She noticed once they got a fair distance through the halls, however, that Sirius was _not_ taking her to Remus Lupin's office. "Um- Sirius-" she stuttered, looking about madly. "Why are we going up to the Astronomy Tower?"

He shrugged, but she felt him pull her closer. "Making up for lost time, I figure."

Before Hermione could ask what he meant, precisely, she found herself pushed through a small secret passage and up into the cool spring night air.

"Ever come up here during school?" he asked her with a sly face.

"I- what?" she asked blankly. "I don't know what you're- mmph!"

Sirius had pinned her to one of the outside walls, kissing her hungrily and running a hand down her back. "I'm not _thick_," he muttered, pleased. "And I pride myself on my good hearing."

Hermione flushed. "Prat," she told him fondly as they sat down to act like fifteen year olds.

"Mm," he agreed with a growl, pressing against her pleasantly. "I do hope Filch doesn't catch us."

Hermione giggled. "He'll be in Lupin's office for some reason or other, I'll bet. You didn't miss the look on his face-"

"Of course not," Sirius agreed, nibbling just below her ear. "And I blackmailed Malfoy into staying away with that picture-"

She melted as one of his hands moved to massage a tense spot in her neck. "Foresight," she breathed. "What a wonderful quality in a man…"

He was nipping at her bottom lip now, running his tongue over it and sending wonderful sensations through her nerves. "Do I get rewarded?"

She responded by sliding a hand behind his neck. "We'll see what we can arrange, Mr. Black…"

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No one seemed overly surprised when they were still at the castle the next day. Hermione had to admit, visiting the classes was a great deal of fun – Lupin had welcomed them in with a slight smile and related to his class the grand story of their class pet (Buckbeak) and his relation to Hermione, Sirius, and a very whiny Malfoy junior. Malfoy had, of course, blanched as she recalled loudly his time as an Amazing Bouncing Ferret in front of his students. Vector left her students to take on a particularly difficult problem while she talked cheerily with Hermione over tea about some advanced theory she'd been working on for publication. McGonnagal allowed Sirius to have a bit of fun with the Slytherins (though she would _never_ admit to anything of the sort) by transforming into his Grim form and watching them intently from the back of the Transfiguration room.

The last, and most put off of their destinations, was the dungeon.

"Well?" Hermione said quietly, staring the older man in the face. "What's – um – teaching like?"

It was a lame question, but inevitable, considering they were visiting at Hogwarts, and she had to encounter him at some point.

Snape's lip curled into a sneer. "Imagine a group of those damned Cornish Pixies running about the dungeons waving wands at each other and breaking every delicate instrument in the room – and some not so delicate."

She pursed her lips. "I think I can imagine," she admitted. "I seem to remember as a first year…"

The DADA teacher sat back in his chair with a glance at the clock on the other side of the room, just above the door. "I wish to know just one thing, Miss Granger, before the students get here. I must admit, it has bothered me for years…"

Hermione's interest perked, even as Sirius stared past Snape's head pointedly, ignoring him.

"Yes?" she asked.

A reluctant smile edged its way onto Snape's face, though it was tinted with the same unpleasantness that made its way into everything he did. "It _was_ you that stole the Boomslang skin from my private stores in your second year?"

Hermione smiled quietly. "Yes. Yes I did. It – it was for a good cause, though."

Severus Snape leaned back into his chair and stared at Sirius now. "Oh yes. And what in hell made you bring back this flea-bitten mutt?"

"Watch it, Snivelly," Sirius gritted out.

Snape's eyes glittered. "I'm afraid I'm about twenty years your senior now, Black," he gloated. "You are now the same age you'd be if I'd been your Potions teacher."

"Thank God you weren't," Sirius sneered. "I think I might've drunk my own draught of sleeping death."

"Only lasts for two days, at maximum potency," Snape shot back. "You would know that, of course, if you'd paid attention at all instead of playing with your little ratty friend-"

Hermione's expression turned cold at this. "Don't _mention_ him," she hissed.

Snape smiled in a way that showed his teeth. "Whyever not? Bad memories for the poor dog?"

The bell rang before Sirius could leap, and a group of reluctant students filed in. Ever since Snape had become free to choose which house to favor, he'd been equally nasty to all of them.

"We'll be leaving now," she bit out, pulling Sirius by the arm with her. "Good day – hope none of your students blows you up."

She slammed the door behind them.

"Bloody git," Sirius swore. "Why didn't you let me-"

Hermione's eyes glittered quite maliciously for someone that had been so pleasant for so long.

"I set one of George's fireworks in one of the cauldrons near Snape's desk," she said with a serene smile. "And, if I'm not mistaken, his schedule said that today they were doing explosive shrinking potions-"

There was a sudden BOOM! and a bout of swearing that sounded suspiciously Snape-like and very high-pitched.

Sirius stared at her as though having a revelation.

"Hermione," he said, quite calmly. "I love you. Let's get married."

She smiled brilliantly. "I thought you'd never ask."

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A preview of one of my other mad SB/HG ideas – it won't be actually posted until it's completely finished out of respect for my readers' sanity.

…..

"Don't move."

She knew who it was – who it had to be – and Hermione didn't listen. She immediately brought her foot down onto his foot and bit hard into his hand, struggling to reach her wand. The man seemed prepared for this, though, and held his grip tightly, pulling her with him into a deserted classroom.

Oh god, he's going to kill me! He's going to kill me and leave me out for Harry or someone to find, to scare them all- or maybe he's just doing it because I'm a mudblood-

Hermione thrashed harder, and almost made some headway as he stopped to close the door.

"Would you please stop that?" the voice behind her snapped. "It was hard enough to find a time to talk to you!"

The strangeness behind these words stopped her momentarily.

_What?_

"Good. Now – if I let you go, will you promise not to scream?"


End file.
